Night Shift
by B and M
Summary: Ficlet series about a 30-something museum curator and a part-time security guard who find their paths crossing during the late hours they keep. Richonne AU. No Zombies.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: It's back. :) I was going through some of my unfinished works (yeah, they haunt me) and this one called to me. It's all done, so no worries, I won't leave you hanging again. I've had some extra free time lately and the warm reception you all gave the last chapter of Little Talks definitely gave me the nudge I needed to buckle down and write, so thank you for that!**

 **This is a ficlet series with shorter chapters and overall length compared to a standard multi-chapter, and it's exploring one of my favorite topics to think and write about. In a world with no ZA, how do we get these two together? Hope you enjoy!**

 **Monday, January 9**

"Good night, Michonne!"

"Good night," she called out to her fellow associate curator as she glanced at the roman numerals on the face of her black leather tank watch. 7:15. _Finally_.

With the museum closing at 5:00 and the winter sun setting shortly thereafter, the office was usually long deserted by this time of night. She stood from her chair then walked over to the entrance of her office, poking her head out to make sure the hallway was clear before closing the door and returning to her desk.

She leaned down to pull out the grey canvas weekend bag stowed under her desk, then placed it on top while she kicked off her black leather heels, sighing in relief as she pointed and flexed the toes of her now freed stocking clad feet. She reached under her skirt to dig the equally restricting elastic band of her black pantyhose out of her waist, lifting her bottom from the chair as she slid them down and off of her legs before tossing them on her desk. She stood and undid the tiny button on the side of her merlot colored pleated leather skirt and stepped out of it, folding it neatly and setting it aside before crossing her arms in front of her and grabbing the hem of her tight black turtleneck to lift it over her head.

She folded it just as neatly and set it on top of her skirt then unzipped her bag and pulled out the well worn pair of jeans and navy blue Emory hoodie she had packed. Her artist friends had their work clothes, old blue jeans washed so many times over that they were just a few shades away from being white, making them look like a canvas for the years of paint splatter that had accumulated on them, paired with oversized tees and button downs that looked like Jackson Pollock pieces in their own right, as well.

She threw on her own version of work clothes, a variation on the same outfit she'd been wearing since her undergraduate art history major days which was her go to for long nights and weekends spent building and staging exhibits. She slipped her bare feet into an old pair of grey Nikes she kept under her desk and fashioned her locs into a bun high stop her head. She then snagged her iPhone from the desk, popped her earbuds in, scrolled to find the playlist she had pieced together during the long hours she'd already spent on this project, pressed play, and stashed the phone in her front hoodie packet. With her hands free, she grabbed her ID badge and slipped it into her back pocket, then picked up the notebook, pencil, and tape measurer sitting on her desk and took off for the museum floor. _Finally_.

* * *

"You've got five levels," the security guard explained as he motioned to the exposed walkways that lined the atrium. "An entire walk-through takes around an hour. I'd like three a night, but I'll settle for at least one."

Rick nodded, his eyes lifting upward to scan the expansive space before being brought down to the bank of monitors mounted behind the front desk by the motioning from the older gentleman's hand.

"We've got thirteen monitors here."

Rick scanned the black and white images that looked like they were on pause given the current inactivity in the museum.

"One for each entrance and two for each floor, north and south wing views. And this one…" he said as he flipped the switch on the one blank monitor causing a color picture to develop on the screen, "gets cable," he announced proudly. "I told you it's not a bad gig, the hardest part is staying awake."

"Right," Rick nodded.

"If you get hungry, there's two pizza places that deliver late around here. You got Vespucci's," he said pointing the to east, "or Vinny's," he said pointing to the south. "They're both absolutely terrible, but Vinny's is less so. Now Vinny's does close a little earlier, but I'd rather have a cold slice than a bad one, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Rick nodded, finding the man's fast paced speech dizzying. Not to mention the fact that he could barely tell the difference between Pizza Hut and Papa John's, always having to ask his son to remind him which one had the good breadsticks and garlic sauce he liked much to his annoyance.

"Former NYPD," the security guard explained, apparently noticing his lost look. "I take my pizza seriously."

"Gotcha," Rick said, finally able to identify his gruff accent beyond just _not from around here._ "Well, I brought my food with me anyway," he said, raising the lunch cooler that was still in his hand.

"Ah, well, you got a fridge, a locker for your things, and a cot in there if you need to grab some shut eye," he said pointing the the door on the wall behind the desk. "You got any questions?"

"No, I think that's it."

"Great. Here's a master key card," he said passing it off to his reliever. "Gets you anywhere you need to go. Just don't let anyone steal anything, and if you have an emergency, you can always call 911," he cracked.

"Will do," Rick chuckled.

"Have a good one," he said with a wave as he slipped his jacket on and left for the door.

"You, too."

Rick walked out from behind the desk to lock up behind him, but older man stopped him, holding up his white key card to explain that there were no physical locks to mind. He dipped his head self-consciously, then stopped there in the middle of the lobby and watched him exit through the glass doors and disappear down the walkway.

He placed a hand on his hip and looked around him. It was silent except for a constant, low mechanical hum coming from what he figured was a water fountain or soda machine somewhere off the lobby, only he couldn't quite tell which since the periphery of the room was obscured by darkness; the only light came from the soft glow of the streetlights on Peachtree Street and the desk lamp at the security station. He gazed up at the glass ceiling of the atrium, seeing only the black night sky, its stars washed out by the city's light pollution.

He turned to head back to the desk, recoiling upon hearing the sound of his boots hitting the tile and echoing loudly throughout the lobby. He had no sleeping children the next room over to be concerned about waking like at home, but the noise was still too much, jarring and unsettling in this large empty space. He had seventeen years on the force and a Colt Python on his hip, so it wasn't fear, it was just this feeling of unease, the same one he felt when walking into one of those houses where everything was so pristine that you were afraid to move or sit for fear of ruining something.

He looked down at his watch. 7:30. Eleven-and-a-half more hours to go. With nothing else to do, he sat his lunchbox down on the desk and peeled off the brown suede jacket he was still wearing, then walked down the hallway to start his first sweep of the premises.

* * *

 _See-line woman_

 _She drink coffee_

 _She drink tea_

 _And then go home_

 _See-line woman_

Michonne clicked the lock on her tape measurer, leaving it to sit on the floor while she stood from her kneeling position. She pulled one bud from her ear thinking she heard something, an added beat that was out of time with the layered percussion and handclaps backing Nina Simone's voice. She looked down the length of the gallery she was standing in and through the opening that connected with the main corridor, but saw and heard nothing after a moment of watching, so she knelt down again and reached across to scribble the measurement she'd marked in her notebook.

 _See-line woman_

 _Dressed in green_

 _Wears silk stockings_

 _With golden seams_

 _See-line woman_

The errant beat resurfaced, and she simply turned her head to look again, seeing a man double back upon catching sight of her on his way past the gallery. He was dressed in a brown uniform, different from the grey suits their own security guards wore and the head to toe black off duty Atlanta Police Department officers wore when they took extra shifts. She fished her badge out of her back pocket and flashed it at him to which he nodded and gave a small wave back. She nodded in return then went back to work as he moved on.

"Shit," she hissed to herself upon seeing that the distraction had made her lose her place on the floor, causing her to have to remeasure the entire length of the exhibit space again.

She clicked the lock on the tape measurer causing the metal strip to retract into the yellow cartridge with a loud snap, echoing her frustration. She stood and made her way back to the wall, about to start the process again before thinking twice about that security guard and the extra set of hands he could provide. She knew he had all the time in the world and nothing else to do unlike her, so she jogged down the the length of the gallery, hoping to catch him before he disappeared to the next floor. When she reached the main corridor, she saw him stopped in front of a painting by one of her favorite American impressionists, a winter scene executed in grays, blues, and warm browns evocative of the season they were in.

"Excuse me."

He turned, a look of alarm on his face, as if the tables were turned and she had caught him red-handed.

"Would you mind helping me with something?" she asked holding up the tape measurer to give him an idea as to what he may be volunteering for. "It won't take long."

"Sure," he said with a dutiful nod before turning on his heel and walking over to join her.

"I just need to measure this area," she explained as the walked through the gallery, their steps echoing loudly as they passed through, paying no mind to the works of art that lined the walls and sculptures that were displayed in the middle.

It was all so surreal to Rick, having this unrestricted access to a place that some people held with the same reverence others would a church. Neither did it for him, personally, but he could still feel the gravity of the museum, that it was a place that demanded a certain degree of respect which was something the woman he was following seemed to hold for it. Despite her casual attire, she was serious, speaking quietly and using as few words as possible to communicate with him as she showed him the perimeter of the area she had been trying to measure. They got to work, him holding the end of the tape in hand as she pulled the measurer, jotted down numbers, and pointed him in the direction she needed him to go next. Within three minutes they were done with what would have taken her ten.

He walked toward her, not letting go of the tape until he was close enough to be assured it wouldn't snap up and hit her or cause a loud sound. She tilted her chin appreciatively, giving not quite a grin, but some movement of her lips that connoted appreciation.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Not a problem."

He turned and made his way back down the hall, heading straight to the stairwell that led to the fifth floor to complete his first set of rounds.

* * *

After what seemed like an hour straight of flipping through channels, he landed on CNN and decided to stay there for lack of anything better to watch. He had already consumed half of his thermos of coffee and polished off a granola bar leaving himself with just a sandwich and an apple to get him through the next eight-and-a-half hours of his shift. He had been passing his time until his next sweep by staring out the front door, the people watching along Peachtree Street proving to be far more interesting than cable news, but that had come to an end thanks to the late hour, so he found his attention drawn toward monitor ten where the woman he had seen earlier drifted in and out of frame as she moved about the gallery space.

She would stay in frame for long stretches of time, standing as she wrote in the same notebook he had seen her working in earlier, then disappearing for a while before resurfacing in a different area of the room, a definite pattern to her movements. In the times she was gone, he found himself staring blankly at the screen until she returned, then looking away to scan the other monitors, feeling as though he was invading her privacy. This last time, though, she didn't return; instead he watched her exit through the back door wrapped in a dark, puffy jacket with her bags slung over her shoulder on monitor two. He picked up his thermos and took a long pull from it as he glanced at his watch. 10:43. He'd bargained with himself to wait until 11:30 to make his next round, but his knee bobbing restlessly under the desk was likely to give out before then so he put down his coffee and left the the stairwell just off the lobby to start his rounds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday, January 10**

Rick pushed through the glass doors of the museum's front entrance entrance and stepped into the land of the living again. He squinted his eyes, shielding them from the glare of the bright morning sun and the snap of the cold wind against them. He shoved his hands, on fire from the sudden shift from warm to cold, into his jacket pockets and walked briskly toward the parking garage.

The old light blue and wood paneled Jeep Wagoneer that he had lovingly restored with his father a few years back was one of only two cars there since the museum's staff still had another two hours before they would report to work. He unlocked and opened the door then hopped into the driver's seat, closing the door as quickly as possible to keep the cold out even though it had already settled into the interior of his car overnight. He turned the key in the ignition and immediately cranked the heat all the way up then cupped his hands over his mouth and blew a few warm breaths into them to tide him over until the air conditioner kicked in. As he waited for the engine to warm up, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and figured he would use the time to make an important call before hitting the road.

 _Hey._

"Hey, Lori. Is the boy awake?"

 _He is._ _He's sitting here eating breakfast, finishing up his waffles and all of the berries._

He smiled to himself as he heard his son groan in the background at his mother's roundabout way of nagging him to finish his fruit.

"Can I talk to him?"

 _Of course. Carl, it's your father._

He heard him sigh heavily in the background, mumbling something to the effect of _I know, mom._ He didn't like when his son took that tone with his mother or him or any adult for that matter, and reminded himself to address it a little later when he had the time.

 _Hey Dad!_

"Hey bud, I just wanted to call and say good morning since I didn't get a chance to say good night last night."

 _See, if I had a cell phone, we could just text._

Rick looked up at the ceiling of his car and shook his head. This kid was 12 going on 18; too smart for his own good, but still very much a child which he didn't seem to want to acknowledge unless it was convenient to do so.

"Maybe so, but you still would have been asleep by the time I finally had a minute to talk...at least you _should_ have."

 _Dad._

He could hear the guilt and exasperation in his voice. His old man knew the score even if he wasn't there, and if he had to guess, his son had either been reading comic books or playing the Nintendo 3DS he'd gotten for Christmas.

"So what's going on at school today?"

 _It's Caleb's birthday so his mom is bringing in cupcakes for the class._

 _And?_ he heard Lori ask in the background.

 _And we have a spelling test._

"Before the cupcakes, I hope," Rick said, assuming that if he was already this distracted, he would surely bomb his test once the sugar was coursing through him.

 _Yeah...how was work? Was it like Night at the Museum?_

"No, not at all," Rick said with a chuckle, thinking of the movie they had watched together at his house a few weeks back. "It was a quiet night."

 _Oh._

"Yeah," he sympathized upon hearing the disappointment in his son's voice. "Well, I just wanted to call to check in on you. I don't want to keep you too long and make you late for school. Good luck on your test today."

 _Thanks._

"And give your little sister a kiss for me."

 _I will._

"Alright. I love you, bud. "

 _Love you, too dad._

The phone went dead on Carl's end before he could even take it from his ear. He laughed quietly to himself then tossed it in the empty passenger seat and pulled out of his parking spot, more than ready to be home and get some sleep.

* * *

"Uh, uh, uh," she chided as her fellow curator and self-proclaimed work husband, Eric Raleigh, reached for the notebook on her desk.

He frowned with disbelief that she would really keep this a secret from him of all people. He kept his hand on the notebook, demonstrating that he wasn't going to give up so easily.

"Come on, Michonne. Just a little preview."

"You can have more than a preview when I present in two weeks."

She put put down the plastic to-go container of salad she was eating during the lunch break they were taking in her office, then reached across her desk to slide his hand off of the notebook. He slumped back into his chair dramatically and glared at her.

"The suspense is killing me."

"Good," she grinned. "Drumming up interest in an exhibit is half the battle, right?"

"Right," he conceded none to happily as he picked up his turkey wrap he had set on the edge of her desk and too a bite. "You looked like you were going to fall asleep in that budget meeting this morning."

"No, I didn't," she lied.

She absolutely felt like it, though she thought she had done a better job of hiding it. _Note to self, get an extra shot of espresso in your Americano tomorrow morning._

"Yeah, OK," Eric said knowingly. "Are you staying late again tonight?"

"Yep. And probably every night until I present."

"You know you could pull in a fellow or a junior curator to help with this project, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to. Every single exhibit I've staged has been me realizing someone else's vision," she explained. "This one is mine. I'm going to be greedy and keep all of the work for myself."

"And how's that working out for you so far?" he asked skeptically, knowing all of the effort that went into conceptualizing and staging an exhibit.

"Quite well, thanks," she said with a big smile.

* * *

She loved the museum during the day, the way the sun shone through the atrium and flooded the the halls and gallery spaces with natural light and the quiet buzz of museum goers and staff filling out the space and adding another layer of warmth. The interior was modern with stark white walls, but not pretentious, not trying to be anything it wasn't which is why she stayed in Atlanta after finishing her doctorate degree. She had always felt that art was for the people, any and every one who wanted to be a part of it, and this museum seemed to embody that spirit to her.

As much as she loved the museum during the day, she loved it at night, as well. After hours spent at her desk, researching and writing her proposal, she needed these quiet moments of inspiration and reflection. Back in her jeans and sweatshirt with her earbuds in, she sat on the polished hardwood floor of the gallery with her back against the white wall staring ahead at the space that she hoped would be filled with her vision in just a matter of months. She bit into the apple she had brought with her, the sounds of crunching and chewing filling her ears along with the music. She was able to get lost in her thoughts until she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw the name on the incoming text message, Mike, then swiped to see what he had to say.

 _Hey Beautiful. I'm in town tonight and I'd love to see you._

I can't. Working late.

 _After?_

Like really late.

 _I don't mind._

She sighed and shook her head. He was a business consultant from New York City who found himself in Atlanta for the project he was working on several days out of the month. She'd met him one night at the hotel bar she and her colleagues frequented for happy hour, and he was nice enough and more than handsome enough, so flirtations at the bar turned into a couple dinners which eventually led back to his hotel room the last time he was in town a couple weeks ago.

And while she was comfortable with a casual, no strings attached kind of relationship, she wasn't feeling so comfortable with the thought of being the girl who came around that late and strictly for one thing. Regardless of his intentions, though, she didn't have time for any of it now.

 _Not tonight. Sorry._

She stashed the phone back in her pocket, end of story, and took another bite of her apple, then looked up to find that security officer with the brown uniform standing in front of her and looking at her expectantly. She tugged at the cord of her earbuds to dislodge them.

"What?"

"I said, no food, drink, or flash photography, ma'am," he repeated as he nodded toward the sign hanging on the wall just over her head.

Her lips parted, and her face froze for a flash before she wrinkled her nose as it sunk in. _Am I really getting in trouble right now?_ And as she looked at him in disbelief, she noticed that his cheeks had flushed slightly as he grimaced.

"It was...it was just a joke," he stammered.

"Right," she breathed out with relief as her face relaxed. "Sorry, I just didn't hear you," she explained, holding up her ear buds.

"Didn't mean to disturb you," he nodded as he began to back away from her and in the direction of the nearest exit.

She shook her head to assure him that it was no bother, then held her hands up, apple in one, and fingers sticky with the juice that had run down them.

"Promise I won't touch anything."

He huffed out a small laugh and nodded her a good evening then turned to continue his rounds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday, January 11**

 _Love me or leave me and let me be lonely_

 _You won't believe me but I love you only_

 _I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else_

Michonne found herself humming along to Nina, her constant late night companion as of late, as she moved around the gallery space sketching the layout in her notebook. Once she noticed what she was doing, she stopped herself out of habit, trying to respect the quiet space, but she was alone and there was no one else to bother...so she carried on, though at a lower volume just in case.

 _You might find the night time the right time for kissing_

 _Night time is my time for just reminiscing_

 _Regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else_

She shifted positions and looked up from her notebook to consider the space from another angle only to see the man in the brown uniform passing by, showing no signs of slowing. She couldn't help feeling it was because of their awkward interaction the night before, and while she was probably overthinking it, a small part of her felt still felt bad about it, so she pulled her earbuds out and took a few steps toward the center of the gallery.

"Hey!" Her voice echoed throughout the hollow hall, and before it had faded into silence he stepped back into her view at the end of the hall. "You know hardly anyone actually patrols the museum after their first night on, right?"

"They told me to try for three," he explained as he walked into the space she was working in.

"Our guys don't even do three," she said of the museum's own full time security guards as she walked toward the center of the gallery space.

"What do they do then?"

"No clue," she shrugged. "I do my thing and they do theirs."

"Huh."

She smiled inwardly at his stumped look; one foot turned out, one hand on his hip with his thumb hooked into his gunbelt, and the other hand tracing over his graying scruff and the bemused grin that played on his lips as he stared off at a spot on the wall for a moment. She usually didn't put any effort into getting to know these off duty officers since it was a constant rotation of new faces every night, but tonight was the third night this particular officer had been here, and the first night she had really paid him any mind. It turned out he had a rather nice face and seemed like an equally nice guy.

"Just letting you know…"

"Appreciate it," he said with a nod of his head and self-conscious grin.

She grinned back, and held his gaze for a moment. The uniform was completely wrong, all drab beige and brown and offensive to her discerning eye, but that face...

"I'm Michonne, by the way," she said, breaking the lapse in conversation, as she shifted her notebook to the other arm and extended her hand to him.

"Rick," he said with a smile as he shook her hand. "If you don't mind me askin'...what are you doin' here?" he asked, starting to laugh quietly.

She began to laugh, as well, realizing that she probably looked more out of place here than he did with her jeans and sweatshirt at this late hour.

"I'm a curator," she explained. "I've been staying late to work on a new exhibit I'm staging."

"Ah," he said with a knowing nod as all of the pieces came together.

"Yeah, I don't usually make a habit of hanging out in museums by myself at night…"

"I didn't figure as much," he said, grinning at her self-deprecating quip. They fell into a lull again, understandably so since there really wasn't much else to say. "Well, I'll let you get back to it then."

"Yeah, alright," she nodded as she shifted the notebook in her hands again.

"I'll see you around," he said as he took a step back.

"See you around," she confirmed with a slight wave of her hand before turning to immerse herself in her work again.

* * *

 **Thursday, January 12**

She sat cross-legged on the floor of the gallery, back against the wall and laptop balanced on her folded legs. Her notebook and color copies of the paintings and sculptures she was planning on featuring were scattered on the floor around her. Tonight was for writing, for making her case for this exhibit with dossiers on every artist and their work. She was trying to strike that perfect balance between adoring fan and discriminating curator, producing something that she hoped would appeal to the hearts and minds of her fellow curators and the board of directors she would be presenting to in just 2 weeks time. There was no music tonight, just her thoughts and the sound of her fingers tapping against the keys of her laptop, that is until she heard the steady rhythm of footsteps pounding down the main corridor. She looked up from the screen and grinned as she shook her head.

"Couldn't sit still, could you?" she asked just as the sound of the footsteps reached a crescendo as they neared the entrance of the gallery.

But the figure that had appeared was not who she was expecting. Instead a stout, middle-aged balding man in a black A.P.D. uniform, the kind of person who didn't inspire a great deal of confidence that he could actually protect you should shit go down, appeared and looked her way as he slipped his headphones off, the muffled sound of some classic rock song filling the air as he looked at her curiously.

"Huh?"

"Sorry," she stammered as she pulled out her badge and flashed it at him.

He barely even gave it a once over; just slipped his headphones back on and kept shuffling down the hall. She took a cue from him and put her head down, getting back to work again.

* * *

 **Friday, January 13**

"Sir Richard Grimes the Third, ladies and gentlemen."

Hardly anyone batted an eye, immune to the red headed officer's antics after all these years, as Rick walked through the room of his fellow officers awaiting morning report.

"Good morning, Deputy Ford."

His partner eyed him up and down, then stepped uncomfortably close to him and took a sniff.

"You smell like champagne wishes and caviar dreams," he assessed with an attempt at a highbrow accent that sounded vaguely British. His words sounded familiar, like something from that 80's TV show about rich people he remembered seeing as he flipped through the channels as a kid.

"It ain't even like that," Rick said with a grimace as he batted him away and took a seat on the edge of an empty desk next to his partner.

"It is," Abraham corrected. "You had a good thing going with your after hours gig at the pawn shop. Now you're working six days straight of nights and weekends? Hope the high life is worth it because you're gonna burn out..."

"But now I get a week off to spend with Carl and Judith. I'm makin' city wages plus a night time differential at the museum," he explained yet again. "When you have to pay alimony and child support every month, then you can come talk to me about it."

"No, sir," Abe protested quickly and adamantly. "Not me. I double up. I ain't trying to hitch my wagon to anyone or thing."

"Yeah, alright," Rick nodded, knowing that for all the talk about being a man about town, he seemed to spend an awful lot of one-on-one time with Rosie from dispatch. "So what's it looking like for today?"

"We're patrollin' the good side of the tracks today, so you should feel right at home."

"Shut up," Rick groaned with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

She looked up from her laptop at the sound of footsteps, a small hopeful feeling stirring within her only to be dashed within seconds when a man in the same black uniform as the night before, but with a new face, passed by without even looking her way. It reminded her why she didn't bother learning their names or making small talk, they were just there to make an extra buck, and she was just there to get work done. Remembering why she had chosen the quiet late nights in the first place, she got back to it, unbothered by the string of new faces that appeared night after night after night...


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday, January 23**

"Well look who's back, bringing the sunshine and fresh island breeze with her!"

Michonne quirked her head curiously wondering just what in the hell he was talking about. Nothing about her snug black dress, matching knee high boots, pinned back hair, or the Manhattan in her hand exactly screamed sunshine or island breeze.

"What?" she asked over the loud house music that was pumping through the lounge at the W Hotel as she squeezed into the empty spot beside him at the bar.

"Your trip to St. Barth's, how was it?"

No wonder it didn't make any sense, he _didn't_ know what the hell he was talking about.

"Mike," she chided, smiling prettily at him despite his gaffe.

"What? You told me you were going on vacation the last time we saw each other."

She just shook her head. "I think you got your girls confused…"

She couldn't help but start to laugh at the look on his face, shifting from suave and confident to panicked in seconds flat.

"I could have sworn…" He looked down at the bar, searching for an answer, but there wasn't one to be had, at least not one that he probably wanted to share with her. "You know you're the only one."

She winced at his misstep, the wrong move in absolutely every way. For one, it was just a bald-faced lie, and she didn't have much patience for that. And on the other hand, when did she ever give the impression that she thought she was or even wanted to be his one and only? The luster had been wearing off of his smooth facade for her lately, and this was doing nothing to restore it.

"Come on, now," she goaded. "Don't do that. I've never been under the illusion that I was…"

"Because it's not an illusion," he insisted.

"OK," she nodded, humoring him if that's the line he wanted to stick to. "So how have you been?"

"Busy with work, but better now that you're here," he said with the kind of smile meant to literally charm the pants right off of her. "We should get out of here and grab some dinner, just you and me."

"Can't. I have to work."

"Oh, that's right," he exclaimed a bit too excitedly, though it was completely unfiltered and genuine. It's like the pieces had all come together in his head: Michonne, art museum, project, late nights.

"Now you remember," she teased.

"Michonne," he said with a frown. "Don't be like that."

"I'm not," she assured him. "Trust me, it's cool, but I should get back to my friends," she said, nodding back at the few high top tables that she and her colleagues had claimed for happy hour. "It was nice to see you again."

"You, too, beautiful," he said, taking a moment to appreciate the view as she walked back to her group before flagging down the bartender for another drink.

* * *

Rick waved off the daytime security guard and officially began his shift. He glanced down at the bank of monitors before him, all looking like dead air with their lack of activity, then began settling in for the evening. He set down the book he had brought with him, a dogeared copy of _Where The Red Fern Grows_ he was hoping to get through so that he could help Carl with his book report over the weekend. He peeled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the rolling chair before unzipping his lunch bag and pulling out one of the two thermoses of coffee he had packed; he came prepared this time thanks to the lessons he had learned during his first week: double the caffeine, double the snacks, and definitely have something to help pass the time, especially during the early morning hours when it seemed to slow to a standstill.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement on monitor 1, a figure entering the frame at the front entrance. He looked up from the screen to check the scene for himself. The figure, dressed head to toe in black caused no need for alarm, however, in fact he found himself smiling at the sight of the would-be intruder. Her face was turned down and away from him as she dug through her purse to find her key card, but he recognized her instantly despite her usual jeans and sweatshirts being replaced with a fitted black coat and sleek black boots. This is exactly what he would have expected a museum curator to look like, and had she been dressed this way the first night he met her, he probably never would have had the nerve to approach her.

Taking pity on her out in the frigid January night with her hands full, he pressed a button at his desk to unlock the door. She startled at the buzzing noise that resulted, then looked up through glass doors as she pushed through, wide eyed upon seeing him which made him smile.

"Hey!" she exclaimed with a warm smile as she walked into the lobby, jostling her purse back onto her shoulder and shifting a plastic grocery bag into her now free hand. "Thank you."

"Yeah, not a problem..." He hesitated for just a second, feeling unsure of himself as he said her name for the first time since she had introduced herself almost two weeks ago. "Michonne."

"Yeah," she said, giving him an encouraging nod. "I figured you weren't coming back...Rick," she said after a beat, holding her breath and pursing her lips in anticipation of his confirmation.

He grinned and gave her a congratulatory nod upon getting his name right without even looking down at his badge. "I work Monday through Wednesday every other week," he explained of his long absence.

"Ah, OK."

"You still working late on your exhibit?" he asked as he came around from behind the desk to join her in the middle of the lobby.

"Yeah, but I'm almost done. The presentation is on Friday."

"You ready for it?"

"I hope so," she said with a cute little shrug.

He found her lack of pretense so charming and intriguing; the attitude still as relaxed and easy as her broken in jeans, even when she wasn't in them.

"You're ready," he assured her with a small smile.

He didn't have a clue whether she was or not, but she'd clearly put in the time, and just seemed like someone who always got it right. She gave him a small, grateful smile in return. He was struck by just how beautiful she was in that moment; warm smile, pert cheeks, and bright eyes. It was the first time he'd really allowed himself to look at her, and she was a knockout. Feeling as though he may have been staring a little too long and hard, he glanced downward to break his gaze.

"You sneakin' more apples in?"

She followed his eyes to the plastic bag in her hand, taking a moment before she realized what he was referring to, that night a couple weeks back when he'd caught her eating an apple up in the gallery. _How does he even remember that?_ she wondered.

"Worse, I'm afraid," she admitted guiltily as she opened it to show him the bag of miniature Big Kat's inside. "It's my go to when I'm stressed. You want some?"

"Nah, I'm not much for sweets, but thanks," he said with a wave of his hand.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where I'll be…"

"I do," he nodded, feeling an involuntary grin on his lips that embarrassed him to no end.

"I'll see you later," she said with a grin as she moved to head for the elevator.

"Yeah," he said as he waved her off. "See ya."

* * *

"You weren't kiddin', were you?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes at the voice coming from behind her, then looked at the situation he had found her in. Sitting on the edge of a white platform that propped up a display case for a sculpture with a half full bag of Big Kat's sitting next to her and a grocery bag full of the the empty wrappers sitting in the ground...yeah, she deserved that.

"I see you're still patrolling every night, huh?"

"What else am I gonna do?" he shrugged as he walked around, coming face to face with her and arching a brow upon seeing just how much damage she'd done. She pulled a piece of candy out of the bag and held it out toward him.

"Sit. Have a Big Kat."

He declined the candy, but accepted her other offer and took a seat beside her, feeling as if he was doing something wrong since this was the sort of thing he would yell at his kids for doing...then again, he'd raised them better than that. He took a moment to look around the space, the white walls currently accented with bright pops of color from the modern art on display, while she unwrapped the piece of candy and popped it in her mouth. They were quiet for a moment before her heard her snicker to herself causing him to glance over at her to see what was so funny.

"When I left the other night, the A.P.D. officer that was on duty was slumped back in his chair, head hanging to one side, mouth wide open, snoring like crazy…" she started with a smile as he just shook his head, disappointed, but not surprised by his fellow law enforcement officer, "...with a _Hustler_ magazine opened and laying across his belly."

"No," Rick gasped as he hung his head low, embarrassed on the guy's behalf while Michonne just laughed beside him.

"I swear. I couldn't believe it. Didn't he realize he wasn't alone in here? And even if he was…"

"See, I don't wanna be that guy," he said, using that shlub illustrate why he played by the rules and made his nightly rounds.

"Well, even if you were, I'm sure you'd have the wherewithal to wait until the museum cleared out…"

He felt the urge to protest, that he wasn't that guy. That was something Abe or Shane would do, but not him. The again, she didn't know him like that, so she probably thought all of these guys were one in the same.

"So where's your notebook?" he asked, noticing that she was empty-handed tonight save for her candy.

"In my office."

"What are you working on then?"

"Nothing," she answered, turning her attention to him. "I'm done with the presentation and I don't want to mess with it anymore, but I can't just go home and do nothing either," she shrugged, knowing just how silly it must have sounded to anyone else but her.

"You should get some rest so you're good and ready for your presentation on Friday," he suggested.

She tilted her head and smiled at his sensible, considerate suggestion. "I should, but I won't sleep anyway."

"Well, of course you won't after eatin' all this sugar," he huffed as he picked up the bag as evidence. "It's a wonder you're not bouncin' off the walls in here."

"That is such a dad thing to say," she said through a laugh, his tone taking her right back to her childhood.

"I may have been accused of that once or twice," he admitted with a self-conscious grin.

"Um hm," she nodded, sensing that she'd hit the nail on the head with her assessment.

He turned the wrist of the hand that was still holding the bag of candy, seeing that it was 10:25 PM which he deemed too late to be out on a work night or school night if you didn't need to be. He stood up and peered down at her, while she look up at him curiously.

"Ma'am, the museum is closed for the day, and on top of that there's no food or drink allowed in the gallery spaces, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises," he said in the most authoritative voice he could muster.

Her lips twisted into a grin and her eyes danced with delight as she caught onto his little joke.

"Who do you think you are?" she teased, feigning offense.

"I'm the guy in charge until 7:00 AM," he informed her.

"Well, I'd like to speak to your supervisor then," she responded, remaining firmly planted in her seat.

"Oh, he won't answer," he said, starting to laugh as he realized he didn't even know who that was. Their laughter faded after a moment, and they found themselves in a lull as he stood there looking down at her. "Go home, Michonne," he said sincerely, as he nodded toward the exit.

"I'm just gonna stay a little bit longer," she assured him.

"OK," he nodded as he handed the bag of candy back to her then left her to her thoughts again.

She was a grown woman who was more than capable of taking care of herself, and practically a stranger at that, so he wasn't sure why he had been moved to behave that way. He just was...

* * *

She glanced at her watch just before the elevator hit the ground floor, and frowned at the minute hand showing that it was just past midnight. The bell dinged and the the doors opened, and she walked out into the lobby preparing herself for some kind of smart comment from the handsome security guard extraordinaire. She turned the corner and cupped her hand over her mouth, though, to keep from laughing at the sight: upstanding Officer Rick leaned back in his chair, head turned to the side, and eyes closed with the book he had been reading laying across his chest.

She knew she should just mind her business and get home, but curiosity got the best of her and she quietly crept a little closer to check out his choice of late night reading material. She got within arm's reach and squinted to make out the title, grinning as she recognized it as one that used to show up on her summer reading lists as a kid. _Yep, such a dad_ she thought to herself as she quietly backed away and crept toward the door little like a teenager sneaking out after curfew.


	5. Chapter 5

Tuesday, January 24

Michonne turned the corner into the second floor gallery to find him standing in front of a painting, hands on his hips, pondering the sparse, angular rendering of a woman wearing a bright blue skirt with black gloves and stockings. It felt kind of nice to be the one sneaking up on him for a change.

"What do you think of it?"

She watched him shake his head from behind without turning his attention away from the painting.

"Didn't I kick you out of this place?"

"Last night…"

"What are you doin' down here?"

"Just needed a change of scenery," she said as she stepped up beside him and joined him in admiring the work hanging on the wall.

"What time did you end up heading out last night?"

"Some time after you passed out at your desk…"

He glanced over and caught her teasing eye and grinned bashfully. "Yeah, I figured you caught me."

"Well, at least you were decent...and your reading material was totally PG."

He huffed out a laugh and swiped a hand over his warm, reddened cheeks while returning his focus to the picture in front of him. She'd made Officer Rick blush, and it was kind of charming...and apparently contagious. She bit down on the lower lip and turned her focus to the painting as she began to feel her own cheeks warm.

"So what do you think?" she asked, nodding toward it.

"It reminds me of something hanging on my fridge at home."

"Wow," she whispered breathlessly. "You must have a nice place."

"My daughter makes it her business to keep it decorated."

Just as she thought, confirmation that he was indeed a _dad_. "How old is she?"

"Three," he answered proudly as he glanced her way.

She began to laugh heartily, impressed and amused with the thought of his toddler cranking out museum quality works of art like it was nothing. She reached into the black leather purse slung over her shoulder, and pulled out one of her business cards.

"Do you mind passing this along to her? I'm always looking for up and coming talent."

He grinned and accepted the card from her. "I think she's pretty set on being a veterinarian or ballerina right now, but I'll see what I can do," he promised as he slid it into the front pocket of his light brown uniform shirt.

"Appreciate it."

He smiled and she smiled back, and it started again, that warmth rising in her cheeks and threatening to take over her entire face. So she broke contact with his distractingly blue eyes and looked down at her feet instead for just a moment until she heard him clear his throat and watched his booted feet shift uncomfortably next to hers.

"So, uh, which one's your favorite?"

"That one," she said without hesitation as she pointed to the coils of rusted wire that formed the cat sitting on a sleek white pedestal in the center of the room.

"Really?"

"Really."

He stared at her then took a long look at the cat in question before returning his eyes, now framed by knitted brows, her way. "Why? It looks like a piece of junk."

"It kind of is," she murmured with that soft, pitiful smile usually reserved for babies and children so ugly that they actually began to look cute. "The artist who made it is rather eccentric, lives in what looks like a junkyard out in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia. This is what sat outside guarding the place."

"Like an old junkyard dog…"

"Exactly," she nodded. "Which is why it's called _Watchdog_...even though it's a cat." She glanced at him to see that the confusion on his face had started to dissipate, so she carried on and put on her curatorial hat. "It's also a nod to Greek mythology and the riddle of the sphinx. It was said to have guarded the entrance to the Greek city of Thebes, and to have asked a riddle of travelers before allowing them to pass through the gates. I just found it so clever and endearing...still makes me smile every time I see it."

"I see." He nodded, but the sparse response and neutral expression screamed that he was just trying to be polite.

"What?"

"I'm just surprised is all."

"Authenticity is everything to me. It's what makes great art. That's why I work with self-taught artists. Just because they don't have formal training or come from the biggest art centers of the world doesn't make their work any less valuable or worthy of being put on a platform. They create with no expectations of becoming famous or even known, they just do it for the joy of it. And beyond that, I'd argue that their unique point of views makes what they have to say even more important than some-sorry, I could go on all day," she apologized upon seeing that look of consternation on his face again.

"No, you're fine, I was just...this is your gallery?"

"It is."

"But you're always up in the modern art section."

"That's just where they have the special exhibition gallery. If all goes well on Friday, a self-taught artist will have her work shown right down the hall from Warhol's. It would be the first time one of mine made it up there."

"Sounds like a pretty big deal."

"It is, for me at least. The biggest thing I've ever done…"

"Yet here you are stayin' up late talkin' to some guy who clearly doesn't get it."

"I'm feeling judged," she scoffed. "And anyways, I've got a feeling you get more than you let on…"

He shrugged noncommitally, but, call her crazy, he was saying otherwise with those eyes.

"Go get some sleep, Michonne."

"I'd love to, but I can't."

"Yeah, I know how that goes, but…" he muttered sympathetically before trailing off.

She met his eyes again, wondering if maybe there was something more than earning a little extra money that had him keeping late hours, but he just looked away and nodded.

"Good night."

"Night," she called out after him as he turned to leave her standing all by herself in the gallery.

*If you want a visual, the painting is _Untitled (Woman in Blue Skirt and Gloves)_ by Bill Traylor.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hey all! I got a few questions, so just to clarify, the "new material" started with Chapter 5. Thanks for reading!**

 **Wednesday, January 25**

She could hear him coming from a mile away, his boots striking the polished concrete floors and reverberating throughout the entire atrium. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

"I know," she groaned as soon as she heard the footsteps stop and felt his presence as he towered over her.

"I'm not sayin' anything."

She felt him sit down on the bench beside her and sigh deeply as he stretched his legs out in front of him. She opened her eyes and turned to see him with his own eyes closed for a moment as he ran his hands over his drawn face.

"Long day?" she asked.

"Yeah," he sighed again as he dropped his hands into his lap.

"How do you do it?"

"You ever see that big thermos I bring with me every night?" he asked with a grin. She shook her head no. "Coffee."

"Fair enough," she allowed, laughing quietly at his light-hearted response. "What I was getting at is why you even show up in the first place, though."

"Ah." He nodded and began to crack the knuckles of his left hand with his right. Just when she thought she had gone too far, he answered. "Paying for two houses isn't cheap."

She raised her eyebrows and her pained expression caused him to chuckle. He reckoned he looked the same way every month when he had to cut two mortgage checks. God knows he felt it.

"I went through a divorce last year, it was part of the settlement," he explained.

"What'd you do to deserve that?"

He found himself laughing again at her dry, yet probing quip. "It's not like that. My kids were accustomed to a certain life...stay at home mom, big house with a backyard, after school activities...just because we fell apart didn't mean their lives needed to."

She nodded her approval. "That's admirable."

"Not really."

She shrugged and relented. _Humble_ she noted. And dutiful and committed to his role whether it was father or part-time security guard. There was no way around it, it was absolutely admirable.

"Couldn't you find something with better hours, though?"

"Yeah…" he groaned. She certainly wasn't the first one to ask him that, though for some reason he he couldn't quite put his finger on, he minded it less coming from her. "But I don't sleep much anyway, so might as well make the most of it."

She grinned sadly at the fellow insomniac sitting on this bench at this late hour in these empty halls. "So what keeps you up?"

"It's been a year, but I still haven't quite gotten used to not having the kids in the house. The weeks they're with their mom is...well, it's rough."

"Mmm...what are their names?"

"Carl and Judith." He felt the corners of his lips pull into a smile, it was like a reflex whenever he said their names. And he watched her smile in return, guessing that she knew that feeling. "You have kids?"

"No," she answered quietly before extending her hand out to the space before them. "This is my baby."

"I get why you're there then."

His genuine delivery caught her by surprise. It wasn't the patronizing response about how she'd really know the meaning of life once she finally did, as if it was definite that she would some day. He just got it. When something or someone means the world to you, you'll go the greatest lengths, even if it may seem a little crazy to others.

"Finally," she sighed while nudging an elbow into his side.

"Hey now," he warned.

They both shared a smile before growing quiet again. They had an understanding now, and with nothing more to explain, they both leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the comfortable silence.

 **Thursday, January 26**

 _Oh shit._ It was one of those dreams where you had the sudden realization that you had just fucked up. Forgot to turn in a paper, didn't pay a bill, slipped up at work...only it wasn't a dream, he realized, as he opened his eyes. He glanced down at his watch which read 4:29 AM and then at the woman beside him.

Her cheek was warm and heavy against his shoulder, stealing away the sensation from that spot. It wasn't that he was concerned about explaining this to his boss, they'd never know and he didn't care that much about what they thought anyway. It was having to wake her up and see her reaction. Would she be upset with him? Mortified? Dismissive? Or was there a chance she might just be delighted to see him.

It had been a long time since he had had a woman curled up against him like this, except for his daughter of course, and he had missed it. It was...lovely. She was lovely. Beautiful, intelligent, witty, passionate, honest. She almost didn't even seem real to him, this woman that seemed to haunt the empty halls of this museum at night and keep him company on these long nights.

He reached out and placed his hand on her knee, taking a moment to note how very real it was before giving it a gentle shake. "Michonne?"

"Hmm." She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and kept her eyes closed making him wonder if she had heard him at all.

"It's, uh, it's four-thirty in the morning."

That got her attention. She was slow to lift her head and sit up as she came to and realized where she was and who she was with, and when she did, she greeted him with wide-eyes and a shy smile before covering her face with her hands. It was fleeting and small, but it was there, he saw it.

"Oh my God," she groaned through her fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap. "I'm sorry."

"I fell asleep, too, so…"

"I guess it finally caught up with us."

"Guess so."

He watched her stand from the bench and smooth her hands over her shirt to make sure it was in place.

"So I'm gonna go hang out in my office until it's light enough out to walk home," she said throwing a thumb back in the direction of the offices.

"There's a cot in the security office if you'd rather," he said as he stood. "Shift change isn't until 7, so it's all yours until then."

She grinned and stared at him for a moment before pointing her thumb behind her again. "I think I should probably head back to my office, but thank you."

"Sure."

She went to turn, but stopped herself, realizing this was the end to their late night meet-up's for a while or maybe even ever. "And thanks for putting up with me these past few weeks. I enjoyed our chats."

"Me too," he said with his own shy smile. "Good luck tomorrow. I mean, not that you need it. I think you're gonna do great, but-"

"I gotcha. Thank you."

He nodded and instinctively swung his hand towards hers as she began to turn again, catching her in something of a low-five. She met his eyes and smiled as their hands clasped briefly before falling away as they turned and went their separate directions.

 **Friday, January 27**

"You had been doing so well!"

He barely had one foot inside and the bells on the dry cleaner's still open door hadn't even finished chiming and he was already getting the business from the shop's owner.

"Now what'd I do?"

"Found this in your shirt pocket."

He groaned inwardly, just waiting to see what she'd found this time. He had a bad reputation around these parts, thanks to his daughter. Chocolates, lollipops, crayons. She reached into a drawer behind the counter and produced a glossy, white rectangular piece of paper. He squinted as he reached out and took it from her hand and turned it over to inspect it. The bold red letters on top read _High Museum of Art_ followed by _Michonne Patrie, PhD_.

"Right," he sighed as he slipped it into the back pocket of his pants. "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem this time, sweetie," she huffed out as she plopped the stack of freshly cleaned and pressed uniform shirts and pants on the counter.

He settled the bill and scooped up his clothes then headed back to his car. After hanging them in the backseat, he settled into the driver's seat and fished out that business card. Today was her big day. By this point, her presentation was long over and she was either out celebrating or, hopefully, being consoled by her co-workers or friends or whomever it was that made up her inner circle. He was curious. No, it was more than curiosity, he actually cared, he was rooting for her.

He stared long and hard at the business card and then shoved it back in his pocket, after all, he wasn't her friend. He was just some guy and she was just some woman he had met and very likely wouldn't see again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Monday, February 6**

"You've become my favorite person, you know that? Always here on time."

Rick chuckled dryly as he walked up to the security station and set his bag and Thermos on the desk. He greeted the ex-NYPD officer who had already vacated his seat and had one arm in his coat then looked up in the direction of the chatter wafting down from the mezzanine that overlooked the main lobby. There was a proper party going on upstairs, complete with music, servers carrying trays of drinks, and a crowd of smartly dressed people imbibing them.

"You've still got a packed house," Rick noted as he sat down behind the desk.

"Yeah, some kind of function," he said with a disinterested nod back toward the party. "There's usually one or two a month."

"You know who's there," Rick mused as he scanned the crowd of people. His question was met with a scoff from the older guard. "Or what's going on, rather?"

"Everybody? Nothing? Doesn't matter. They usually wrap up around 9, see themselves out down the stairs and through the front entrance. It's a well-behaved crowd... _mostly_. Sometimes you get couples trying to sneak off into the museum to cross one off their bucket lists, if you know what I mean..."

Rick met his leering look with a quick nod of understanding and watched as he pushed away from the desk, making clear his intent to leave again.

"Just do a sweep upstairs once they're mostly gone, then tell my buddy Tom from catering that I sent you, fix yourself a plate of whatever leftovers they have up there, and then it's business as usual for the rest of the night…"

He followed his orders with a salute to his fellow officer then turned and made his way toward the door leaving Rick on his own to continue his people-watching, or security duties, rather.

* * *

"Michonne Patrie."

She took a step back from the older, silver-haired gentleman in a stodgy blue blazer whose face was precariously close to her breast at the moment as he read her name tag.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." She gave a strained smile to Dr. Ronald Howell III from Alpharetta, Georgia, noting how interesting it was that she needed, nor wanted, to get anywhere near as close to him to read his credentials.

"What is it that you do here, Miss Patrie?"

She swallowed the sharp response she would have served him had they been in a bar in the name of professionalism. This was a private showing for their biggest donors, after all, and she was on the clock despite the glass of Tempranillo in her hand.

"I work in the self-taught art gallery."

"Poor thing," she said with a frown. "The _arts and crafts_ section as I like to call it. Just put in your time and you'll be on your way to bigger and better things soon. Who's running that _gallery_ ," he asked with his fingers forming air quotes around it, "these days anyways?"

"Me," she answered plainly.

She glanced impatiently at her watch, noting that it was just after 7, then over his shoulder to find that she had managed to mingle herself over to the edge of the mezzanine level.

"You're the curator?"

 _Mmm hmm_ she murmured through pressed lips as she peered down into the lobby.

"Reminds me of a good joke I heard once. _Why did the artist get into an argument with the curator at the art gallery…_ "

She saw Ray, their head of security, leaning against the front of the desk. His broad back obscuring the face of whomever it was that he was talking to until he turned to leave.

"You like that?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"You were smiling at my joke," the doctor noted. " _He wasn't in the right frame of mind_." Upon repeating the punchline, however, he realized that her smile had faded now that he had her full attention again. "You weren't smiling at my joke…"

"No. If you'll excuse me…" she trailed off, not bothering to give him a reason as she moved past him to the white metal railing that overlooked the lobby.

And when she looked down into the atrium, there he was, staring right back at her from behind the desk. He immediately raised an eyebrow, and she began to laugh at the impatient _Well, how'd it go?_ she heard him asking in her head. She smiled and gave him a thumb's up to which he did the same.

They stayed like that for a moment, continuing to watch each other from afar. Of all of the conversations she had engaged in this evening, this was the one she found herself wanting to continue, but couldn't. She gave him a small wave then rejoined the party.

* * *

Ray was absolutely right, this was an easy crowd. He watched as they came down the main stairs and filed out through the front door, no amorous elopers tonight as far as he could tell, and he was watching very closely. Less for them and more for one particular guest he hadn't seen descend the stairs yet.

The crowd had dwindled to just the one or two odd people coming down the stairs. The music had been cut and the buzz of the crowd was gone. The only sounds coming from upstairs were the clanking of metal pans and the occasional chatter of male voices as, he imagined, they cleaned up for the night.

He got up from his chair and headed for the stairs to do his sweep and have a look for himself. When he arrived at the top, things looked just as they had sounded from below. Two men in chef's uniforms were disassembling a small buffet station, but there was still one guest lingering at the dessert table in the corner, picking small cakes and sweets off of a three-tiered tray.

"Hey."

She turned and grinned bashfully as she watched him walk her way.

"Hey. All clear except for Tom's crew and me. I was going to bring this down," she explained, holding up a small cocktail plate piled high with sweets, "to go with your coffee tonight."

"Thank you."

He reached out to accept the plate from her, grazing her hands with his warm, calloused fingers as he did. She stared down at her empty hand, that warmth still lingering. If a simple touch affected her like this, she didn't want to know what anything more felt like. Or maybe she did...

"No problem," she responded finally with a sweet smile.

He nodded and looked down, shyly almost, then slid his free hand into his pocket.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"You pass with flying colors? Or unanimous vote or...I really don't know how these things work," he admitted with a self-conscious chuckle.

"Some combination of those things, yeah," she assured him. "The board seemed really enthusiastic about my proposal and awarded me the fall special exhibit."

"Well, I'm happy for you. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am," she admitted without reservation. This was, after all, the biggest professional achievement of her life.

"So I guess that means you're through with the late nights…"

"Yeah, for the next couple of months, then I'll be back at it for at least a few weeks while we're staging the exhibit."

"Well, I'll be around if you need an extra pair of hands."

She went to speak, but faltered. She knew what he meant, but damn if it didn't sound like something entirely different. "I just might take you up on that," she answered with a grin.

He seemed to falter, as well, staring at her for a moment before he finally spoke. "It was good to see you again, Michonne."

"You too, Rick."

She walked past him to take the stairs down to the lobby, and just before she reached the doors she looked back to find him watching her from the mezzanine. He gave her a small wave goodbye then turned to finish his rounds.

 **Tuesday, February 7**

It was silent except for a constant, low mechanical hum coming from the soda machine located just off the lobby. The only light came from the soft glow of the streetlights on Peachtree Street and the desk lamp at the security station. He gazed up at the glass ceiling of the atrium, seeing only the black night sky, its stars washed out by the city's lights.

He remembered this feeling from his first night on the job. The profound silence and feeling of being all alone in this big unfamiliar place, only it turns out he wasn't alone. He hadn't ever actually been alone until this night, and he wasn't all that interested in roaming the halls just to prove to himself that he was.

Instead he just turned on the final monitor and flipped through the channels until he settled on an old episode of M.A.S.H., then turned the volume all the way up to drown out the silence.

 **Wednesday, February 8**

"You coming?"

Michonne looked down the block to see Eric and his boyfriend, Aaron, waiting at the corner of 14th and Peachtree. They had just finished up at happy hour were headed south together, the guys towards the MARTA station and Michonne towards her apartment building on 10th Street. This was their standard routine only this evening she found herself standing there thinking about heading north instead.

"Michonne, we've got a walk sign. Let's go!" Eric hollered.

"Yeah, we're all gonna freeze," Aaron added.

She was still warm, though, thanks to her coat and the two cocktails she had consumed. The only thing frozen were her feet because something was telling her to go back to the museum.

"Shit…" she muttered to herself. "I think I left my keys in my office," she yelled to the guys.

"You need us to walk with you?" Aaron offered.

"No! Wouldn't want you to freeze to death," she teased.

"You sure?" Eric asked.

"I'm sure. You two go home, I'll see you tomorrow."

They waved goodbye and crossed the street while she turned and headed back up Peachtree, across the street, and then up the wide sidewalk that led to the museum's front entrance. As she got closer she could see his face, illuminated by the single lamp at the security desk.

This had all seemed like such a good idea in her warm, hazy, martini-buzzed state. It was just a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood stopping by to say hi. They were cool like that, right? The harsh slap in the face from the winter winds and the blood pumping to her head thanks to the brisk walk had her second guessing herself now. But there she was and there he was, and he'd probably already seen her in his little monitor, so there was no turning back.

She swiped herself into the front door and watched his head pop up as soon as he heard her boots against the floor.

"Hey," he greeted as he stood up from his chair, adjusting his holster and stretching slightly at the waist as he did.

"Hi."

"What are you doin' here?"

 _Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hello._

That's what she wanted to say. That was her style. Flirty, direct, confident. Only it wasn't coming so easily with him, so she fell back on that little white lie.

"I think I left my keys in my office."

"Oh…"

"Yeah. So stupid."

"Well, I can walk you over there if you want."

"Yeah...sure."

He came around to the center of the lobby to meet her and then they took off down the long, now dark corridor that led to the administrative offices.

"You get all the way home before you realized it?" he asked, making small talk with her.

"No. We were leaving happy hour when I realized, so I was just around the corner."

"That's not so bad. Where do you all go around here?"

"Sometimes we go to The W, but tonight we were at Bar Margot over at the Four Seasons."

He looked down at her and arched his brow teasingly. "Now I've never been, but I'm guessin' you don't wear your jeans and sweatshirt to place like that."

"No," she said through a laugh. "I know it sounds pretentious, but it's just what's around. And they actually do have decent drink specials."

"You mean they have two dollar PBR tall boys there? Hot damn..."

"You know they don't," she groaned through a smile. "You can stop now."

"I'm just playin'," he insisted as he walked alongside her.

She glanced up at him and nodded sarcastically. "Busy night?"

"Not quite. I wish it was, though. It's too quiet."

"Bet you're happy to see me then!"

"I am actually."

She glanced up at him as they slowed to a stop at her office door. He was completely serious and she was cursing herself for not going with her gut because now she had this stupid ruse to keep up with. So she dug into her purse, and of course the first thing she felt was the cool, pronged edge of her keys and the minute she touched them, they made that distinctive jingle.

She looked up at him with wide-eyes and he began to laugh softly at her.

"Unbelievable," she muttered as she pulled them out.

"It happens," he shrugged. "I've torn my house up searching for keys that were in my hand the whole time."

She shook her head at herself as she stared at the keys in her hand. _Now what, Michonne?_ Now was the time she had to say goodbye, she supposed.

"Listen..." She looked up to find him looking down at her. "I hope I'm not out of line here, but I was wonderin' if you'd like to go out for dinner sometime."

"Yeah," she said breathlessly since he'd caught her by surprise.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like that."


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: You guys! Thanks for showing up in the reviews last chapter! I was really surprised and excited to hear that you were still with me on this story despite the hiatus and different format. I can't tell you how much that means! I also saw some new (to me) readers, so that was exciting to see, as well. Welcome! I hope you continue to enjoy it. If I don't get another update out before Christmas, I just want to wish you all a very happy and safe holiday!_

 **Saturday, Feb 11**

 _Love hurts_

 _Love scars_

 _Love wounds and marks_

 _Any heart not tough or strong enough_

 _To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain_

The pizzeria's sole cook, cashier, and server's voice continued to soar higher and higher above the power ballad and farther and farther off key making it impossible to ignore any longer.

Rick dropped his pizza crust onto his plate and shook his head as Michonne began to snicker.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Michonne said as she reached for her third slice of pizza.

"It never even dawned on me that pretty much every restaurant in Midtown would be booked because of everyone celebrating Valentine's day."

"Not everybody's celebrating," she pointed out with a nod back toward the kitchen. "Our friend here is channeling all of those feelings into this pizza and I appreciate it."

"It _is_ pretty damn good," he admitted as he reached for another slice.

"It is," she agreed with delight.

She watched him as he dressed his slice with a generous pour of Parmesan cheese and a small shake of dried oregano. She got it. It wasn't _the_ perfect first date, but after they were turned away from three restaurants in a row, her neighborhood's empty pizza joint was their best and only option. So here they were sitting side by side at the counter with a basket of garlic knots and a half eaten veggie pizza between them, and she was honestly quite content and thought he should know that.

"You know, I've never been one to celebrate Valentine's Day, so the thought never crossed my mind either."

He looked up and gave her a wry grin. "So it's a good thing I left the dozen roses and chocolates at home tonight?"

"Tonight? Yes."

"Oh, OK. But tomorrow, no," he teased.

"OK, I'm not that difficult. I love flowers and chocolates. I mean, you've seen me pound a bag of Big Kats."

"I have. It was impressive. Still don't know where you put it all..."

She nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. He basically just admitted that he had, and was still, thinking about her body, right? _Right_?

"It goes...places."

She watched his eyes quickly cast downward over her body before he raised them and then immediately reached for his bottle of beer and brought it to his lips for a sip. She was just trying to get some kind of response out of her mouth, and ended up inadvertently saying something that sounded incredibly suggestive. On a first date. Great.

"Anyways…" she continued after clearing her throat. "What I'm trying to say is that I just feel like it's sweeter when someone wants to do something nice for you just because, not because Hallmark said so, you know?"

"I do, and I had kind of gathered that about you…and for the record," he said , lowering his voice and leaning in a little closer, "I didn't leave any flowers or chocolates at home because there weren't any to leave."

She leaned in, as well, and whispered back, "I kinda figured as much. For the record."

He started to laugh quietly as she smiled and and reached out to pat his hand where it rested on the counter between them. He turned his hand over and wrapped his fingers around hers, giving them a playful squeeze back then relaxed his grip. And when she didn't immediately pull away, he closed his fingers around hers and held her hand.

 _I know it isn't true_

 _I know it isn't true_

 _Love is just a lie made to make you blue_

 _Love hurts_

 _Ooh love hurts_

 _Ooh, love hurts, ooh_

They met each other's eyes as the worker's voice began to fill the room again. Louder, more pained, and even more off key as he brought it home.

The moment was lost.

The both tried to stifle their laughter, but it was Michonne who broke, letting out a huge guffaw. He looked toward the kitchen and then at her with widened eyes, warning her to stop, but she couldn't help herself, so she buried her face in his shoulder in an effort to suppress it. She felt him release her hand then wrap his arm around her shoulder and rest his hand on the side of her head.

"Michonne…" he whispered into her ear. "You're gonna get us kicked out of this place and then where are we gonna go?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," she whispered into the soft, navy blue wool of his sweater, cursing him for making her laugh at his little joke on top of what was already going on.

She took three deep breaths and after a few seconds without an outburst, she lifted her head and looked up at him.

"You good?" he asked.

She began to nod, but before she could even tilt her head back up, she began to laugh again, this time causing him to crack and bringing him down with her. They both leaned in and rested their foreheads against each other's as they gave in to their laughter. She brought her hands up to his cheeks, warm and taut from smiling then pulled back slightly to meet his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed out as the laughter finally began to fade.

"S'okay," he assured her with a wide grin still spread across his lips.

Having never been that close before, she found herself taken with this handsome face looking back at her. The kind, blue eyes; the perfectly placed hard-earned lines and creases around his eyes and mouth from what she imagined was a life filled with a little more happiness than sadness; and the pink lips that were so full at rest then stretched to frame the smiles she enjoyed being on the receiving end of. He was an imperfectly perfect work of art in her personal and professional opinion.

She traced her thumbs over his cheeks and as he tilted his head inquisitively, his lips parted slightly and the hand that had been resting on her shoulder slid up and formed around the nape of her neck with a gentle pressure guiding her into him. She tilted her head slightly in the opposite direction and closed her eyes just before their lips met.

As an experienced and worldly woman of thirty-five, she would have thought that the thrill of simply holding hands and kissing would have long been lost to her, yet here she was feeling _something_ she hadn't felt in years.

As they pulled away, he looked at her thoughtfully to check in with her, and all she could do was pass her fingers over her tingling, smiling lips.

"Now you're going to get us kicked out of here," she teased.

"I'm not sorry."

 **Monday, Feb 13**

"Michonne. Micho-onne!"

She looked up from her computer, which had gone into sleep mode at some point without her even noticing, and rolled her eyes.

"Er-ric," she sang back, mimicking his tone.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your little daydream, but lunch has arrived." He dropped one brown paper bag on her desk as he pulled a turkey wrap out of his and sat down in the chair in front of her. "Let me guess, visions of The Whitney and MoMA were dancing in your head."

"Please," she scoffed as she pulled her kale salad out of the bag. "You know me better than that."

"We'll see in a few months once your exhibit goes live. I have a feeling you're going to get a lot of attention for this one."

"You mean when my _artist_ gets a lot of attention," she corrected.

"Well, I hope this gets you some attention, too."

She stopped pouring her dressing over the salad and cocked her head to one side then smiled.

"Thank you. That's very sweet."

"You're very welcome, my love."

They both went in to take their first respective bites, or at least she did.

"But if it's not jobs you were thinking about with that dreamy look on your face, what is it?"

She looked up at him with a mouthful of kale. "Eric."

"You're not still talking to that Mike guy, are you?"

"No," she denied adamantly.

"Good. We never thought he was good enough for our girl."

"You act like I was going to marry the guy…" she scoffed.

"He wasn't worth your time. Period. I hope this new guy is…"

"And how do you know it's a guy at all?"

"Honey. It's written all over your face."

She ignored him and pierced her next bite with her fork and lifted it to her mouth, only to seen him still watching her with knowing eyes.

"He's a good one," she admitted.

"And?" he followed up excitedly.

"And that's all I'll say for now. Period." With that, she shoved the bite in her mouth and shut it for good.

"Oh this is going to be good," he goaded, earning himself a piercing look from her. "But I'll wait! I'll wait…"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Michonne caught herself staring at a different blank screen, this one belonging to her cell phone. She chided herself for allowing herself to be distracted yet again, then proposed a deal to herself: text him now, get it out of your system, go back to work. So she picked up her cell and started typing.

"Hey!"

And thankfully, he didn't take long to answer.

 _Hey. I was just thinking about you. How's it going?_

The man could flat make her smile. That was for sure.

"Good. You?"

 _Can't complain._

"So I know you have your kids this week, but do you have plans for next weekend?"

 _None yet._

"You want to hang out again next Saturday?"

 _Just hang out?_

And now he had her laughing because she could just hear him teasing her with his dry, southern drawl.

"Rick."

 _Or a date?_

"Rick," she typed emphatically.

 _Whatever you want to call it, I'm in._

"Great."

 _You gonna tell me what I signed up for?_

"When I figure it out, yeah. ;)"

 _Oh boy._

She smiled and put her phone down. Done deal.

 **Friday, Feb 24**

"Nice 'do!"

Rick looked around the parking lot to see who else his partner could be talking to, but there wasn't anyone else in sight.

"Pardon?"

"Your hair," Abraham pointed out. "Lookin' sharp, partner."

Rick self-consciously ran his fingers through his freshly shorned curls as he walked up to their patrol car. "I just got a little trim yesterday."

"Yeah you did. You look good. Healthy."

"Healthy?"

"Yeah."

"Is that code for fat or something?"

"No! _Healthy_ ," he repeated as if the extra emphasis explained it any better. Rick furrowed his brow. "As in not like death," he offered. "You look like you got a good night's sleep...and happy, like the weeks you've got the kids."

"Thank you, I guess?"

"You give up that museum gig finally?"

"Nope."

"Huh." Abe stroked the end of his red horseshoe mustache while he leaned against the car and studied his partner as he opened the trunk. "Then what's the deal? How does one get so healthy looking just like that?" he asked with a snap of his finger.

"Would you stop with the healthy shit already?"

"Listen, I'd say glowing, but I don't want to have my man-card revoked."

"Well, I think you've said enough to have it revoked already," huffed out dryly as he dropped his bag in the trunk, then closed it and began to walk around to the passenger side.

"Touche, Officer Friendly." Abe circled around front and met him on the other side just as he was about to get in. "So what's the deal? You back in the saddle? Participatin' in a little bedroom rodeo in your spare time?"

Rick got into his seat and stared at his partner blankly for a beat. "Since when have I ever talked to you about that kind of stuff?"

"In all fairness you ain't ever had _stuff_ to talk about so long as I've known you."

"And I still don't."

A big shit eating grin spread across his lips, and he braced the open car door and roof as he leaned down to look his partner in the eyes.

"Lying liar. Do I know her?"

Rick stated back blankly.

"Let me put it another way, would I want to know her?"

"Abe," Rick protested.

"That's affirmative."

With that he straightened up then shut the car door and circled around to his side leaving Rick with nothing to do but shake his head.

*The song featured in this chapter is _Love Hurts_ by Nazareth.


	9. Chapter 9

**Saturday, Feb 25**

"Shit."

Rick glanced at Michonne as they rolled to a stop then looked out over the expanse of cracked concrete islands formed by the weeds and grass that had grown between them. Rusted light poles that hadn't shed light in at least a few years lined the field and led up to a wide concrete wall that projected the high beams from her SUV.

"Is this where you meant to go?" he asked.

"Yeah." She was still staring ahead in disbelief.

"You take all your second dates to an empty field out in the middle of nowhere?" he teased dryly.

Without missing a beat, she teased him back. "I usually wait until the third or fourth date, but I made an exception for you." Only she couldn't hide her disappointment as she struck the palm of her hand against the steering wheel. "Damn it."

"This place has been shut down for at least a few years," he explained of the abandoned drive-in movie theater that was ten miles down the road from his place.

"But the website said they had a 6:35 showing of _Dawn of the Dead_ tonight."

"They had a website?"

"I mean, not a good one, but yeah."

"Damn, never would have thought...also wouldn't have figured you were into zombie movies."

"I'm not, but I've never been to a drive-in before so I thought it might be fun, plus we could actually talk and stuff since we're in the car."

He wrapped his knuckles on the side of her thigh to get her attention as he leaned in.

"Well, I'll let you in on something…" he whispered.

She managed to muster a small smile as she turned to look at him. "And what's that?"

"I'm just here for the talking...and stuff," he teased in a suggestive rasp.

She huffed out a laugh before striking her fist against his arm. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Make fun of me."

"I'm not," he defended. "You have any idea how much I've been looking forward to this all week?" She tilted her head incredulously. "So much so that my partner accused me of glowing yesterday, OK?" he confessed.

She reached out and pinched his cheeks. "Glowing, huh?" she cooed.

"Now don't you make fun of me for that," he warned.

"I wouldn't," she claimed innocently. She gave his cheek a pat before she sighing and letting it fall into her lap. "So any suggestions for where to go now?"

"Pull in."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"To where?" she asked as she scanned the defunct parking lot.

"Looks like you got your choice of spots."

"OK…" She lifted her foot from the brake pedal and coasted for twenty or so yards straight into the center of the lot. "I guess here?"

"Works for me."

She threw her car in park and undid her seatbelt as he reached down for the canvas bag that was sitting on the floorboard between his feet. He brought it onto his lap and started unpacking it as she looked on.

"So what have we got here?"

She shook her head, feeling herself flush with embarrassment as he carried on with the remains of this date as if this was an actual thing people did.

"Um, well, a blanket in case it gets too cold," she explained of the obvious red plaid throw he had in his hand as he peered into the bag. "Some wine, fruit, cheese, and crackers…or coffee and cookies depending on which way we want to go."

"Let's start with this," he decided, pulling out the bottle of red wine and corkscrew then handing it to her.

She uncorked the bottle as he pulled out the plastic cups and placed them in the cup holders. Once they were filled, she recorked the bottle and placed it on the dash, then grabbed her cup and tapped it against his which was already in his hand as he waited for her to officially begin their evening together. They each took a sip and then he put his arm across her backrest and relaxed into his seat.

"So tell me about your week."

She smiled brightly at him, this sweet, handsome man who had spent all week looking forward to _talking_...

* * *

 _...and stuff._

He hadn't the faintest when or how they had moved to the back seat because it was all a blur. All he knew was that it wasn't the wine that had spurred them on because they hadn't even finished their first pours. They talked for what felt like hours and now they were here, her back against the door as he hovered over her, making out for who knows how long.

And this...this was _good_ stuff.

He honestly couldn't remember the last time he felt this kind of fire inside him. It had been a well over a year since the last time he was with Lori, and many, many more years since they had done anything like this; the final days and years of their failing marriage were decidedly passionless. There was no kissing for the sake of kissing and romance; it was either a hello, a goodbye, or the signal that someone was in the mood to get off.

He found his lips making a foray away from hers and down her neck while his fingers crept onto the bare skin of her taut belly peeking out from between her dark jeans and cropped ivory sweater, but that's where they stopped. As soon as he hit the fabric, he would retreat, worried that if he went any further, he wouldn't be able to stop.

And he could feel her doing the same, her fingers weaving through the curls at the nape of his neck to pull him in closer before diving down and skimming over the light denim shirt on his back then moving back up as soon as the reached the waistband of his jeans.

The want and desire was there, but something was holding them back. For him, it was this notion of _the third date_ someone had put in his head somewhere along the line. Sex happens on the third date or after the third date or something or other...now he wished he had opened up to Abe a little more and gotten some clarification on the matter.

All he knew was that there was no need to rush this and risk giving the wrong impression about his intentions. If all went as hoped, there would be many more dates and moments for them to act on this desire.

* * *

She was on the verge of falling asleep. He seemed to have this affect on her along with _many_ others…

It was too easy, though, laying across the backseat with her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, fingers gently massaging small circles over her forearm where they rested. The plaid throw that was strewn over their entwined bodies and Leon Bridges' warm, soulful voice streaming through her speakers helped to ward off the rest of the chill coming through her open sunroof.

"I have to hand it to you, you managed to make something out of nothing tonight …"

She could feel his chest rumble as he grunted in protest. "What are you talkin' about? This is a proper date where I come from."

"Really?" she asked, unconvinced.

"Oh yeah. I mean, it looks a little different, but same idea. You go park your pick-up out in a field, bring a blanket and a six-pack, and hang-out in the bed of the truck for some stargazing...and stuff."

She smiled and shook her head against his chest as she stared at a small patch of the night sky through the sunroof. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Probably not for a little while."

"At least you're honest…"

She felt his breath on her neck as he let out a soft chuckle then pressed his lips against her temple and held her a little tighter.

* * *

She pulled up in front of the modest red brick bungalow he called home at exactly 11:17 PM.

"Well, thank you for comin' out here and settin' this up. I had a really good time." She pursed her lips, but before she could protest, he cut her off. "I did."

She smiled graciously. "It turned out to be a nice night thanks to you."

"Do it again in two weeks?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm in," she said with a smile and nod. "Enjoy your time with Carl and Judith this week."

"Ah, I will," he assured her, lighting up at just the mention of them. "You have a good week. And please drive safe."

"I will," she promised.

He reached over and placed his hands on both of her cheeks and pulled her in for a good night kiss, tender yet deep, knowing this one would need to last him for a couple of weeks. He began to pull away then went back in for a final peck on the lips and they took turns repeating this for another time or two, neither quite ready to end it, until they both began to laugh softly. He pressed his lips to hers for one final kiss then pulled away and slowly opened his eyes to see her beautiful face smiling back at him.

"Good night," he whispered as his hands trailed down her cheeks and fell away.

"Good night."

She watched him get out of the car and shut the door then start up the lit path that led to his front door. Once he was nearing the front porch, she looked down and rummaged through her purse to find her phone so that she could get directions to get her home since she no longer had him in the car to navigate the country back roads for her.

A tap on the window made her look up to see Rick standing there looking in. She rolled down the window and he placed his forearms on the frame and leaned in.

"Text me when you get home so I know you made it home safe."

"Rick…" she chided.

"Just humor me, OK?"

"I will," she promised.

He smiled and reached in holding his hand open for hers. When she placed it in his, he guided it to his lips for one last kiss. Again, it was the simplest things with him, and this move made her heart skip a beat. She withdrew her hand put the car in drive.

"Good night," she whispered just before closing the window and pulling away from the curb to start her trip back home.

* * *

 **Sunday, February 26, 12:02 AM**

Made it.

 _Good. Thanks for letting me know._

Now go to sleep.

 _Yes, ma'am._

Good night, Rick.

 _Good night, Michonne. Sleep well._

You too.

She stood in her kitchen for a minute staring at her phone and smiling so wide that it made her cheeks ache. It was the culmination of all of the night's good feelings and memories washing over her at once that left her with no choice but to stand there smiling like a fool.

"God help you, Michonne," she sighed to herself as she headed off to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Hey all! Just a quick note to say thanks for the support! I feel like I'm starting to get back into the swing of writing and your kind words and reviews have definitely helped me along the way. Hope you continue to enjoy this fluffy little mini-series. :)_

 **Monday, March 6, 7:34 PM**

M: You busy?

R: I was just thinking about you. Not at all.

M: Mind a quick visit?

R: I'd welcome it.

M: Then I'll be by in ten.

R: See you soon.

* * *

He'd been standing at the glass door awaiting her arrival since he'd sent that last text a little over ten minutes ago when he finally saw her lithe figure jog into his field of vision on the dimly lit sidewalk of Peachtree Street. She turned onto the long walkway that led to the museum's front entrance, keeping up her brisk pace, and as she passed under each walkway light, he would catch a flash of her. Strong and lean, but shapely in her black tights, white long sleeve shirt, and black down vest. Her hair was pulled back and her skin glistened as the light hit the light sheen of sweat over her face.

He stepped out onto the landing to greet her as she took her last few strides.

"Hey," she exhaled, her warm breath creating a cloud in the dark night air, as she slowed to a stop before him. "I know you're working, but I couldn't help myself knowing you were just down the street…" she explained.

"I was thinking about meeting up too, but-"

"You were trying to play it cool," she supposed.

"No," he protested, grinning at her ribbing. If only he was that smooth, instead… "I get here after you and leave before you, so I wasn't sure how to make it work without asking you to come down here."

She grinned and nodded, feigning skepticism while he stepped in closer to her.

"You look nice," he said quietly, sincerely.

She squinted her eyes then looked down at her running clothes and back at him.

"Um…"

"I know," he laughed, "but you do. I like it when you tie your hair back, and…" he trailed off as he waved a hand toward her body, her lower body to be exact.

"You like the tight pants," she said plainly. "You can just say it."

"Fine," he shrugged. "I do. You look amazing in them."

She dipped her head and began laughing while he did the same. So he appreciated her figure...and her company and sense of humor. It was hard to play it cool and stay away when every encounter held the promise of venturing into new territory of their growing attraction and appreciation for each other.

In her mind and in her friend's eyes, she had always been so cool and in control when it came to men, but this wasn't the case with Rick. She considered that maybe she wasn't actually above it all, maybe she just hadn't met anyone worthy of letting her guard down for...until him.

"Thank you," she whispered back after taking a moment to let this discovery sink in.

He murmured a _you're welcome_ then placed his hand on the side of her hip and leaned in to place a kiss on her lips.

"Hello, by the way," he mumbled quietly in his raspy drawl as he pulled away.

"Hello," she replied sweetly as she stared into his eyes.

"You want to come in?"

She looked toward the museum then shook her head. "I shouldn't...how was the rest of your week?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "My kids suckered me into adopting a dog from the pound on Saturday."

Her face softened and eyes went wide with delight. "What kind?"

"A little hound mix." He couldn't help grinning when he thought about the floppy eared, gangly tricolor pup. "We're callin' her Prissy Boots... _for now_." Michonne scrunched her nose up at the unique name. "The kids couldn't agree on a name, so we just combined them."

"Poor baby."

"I know. That's actually what I've taken to calling her. Just Baby Girl."

"You have a picture?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course."

He pulled his phone from his pocket like the proud father he was and she cozied up to him even closer to take a peek.

"What a cutie," she cooed as she looked at the picture of the little pup taking a nap on his front porch. "She does look like she has little white boots on. Maybe Bootsie?" she offered as a compromise.

He looked down at her and began to slowly nod as he said the name a few times in his head, smiling as it took hold. She was good.

"Yeah, that could work." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and rubbed his hand over her arm as he hugged her. "How was your weekend?"

"Good," she sighed as she nuzzled against him. "I didn't get a dog, but I did get lots of rest and got to try out a new tapas place with my friends."

"Sounds nice…" His arm was still around her and he honestly had no desire to let her go just yet. "You sure you don't want to come in? It's freezing out here."

She glanced at the museum again and shook her head. "Yeah, I really shouldn't," she insisted. He quirked his eye curiously at her reluctance, so she explained. "The cameras..."

"That didn't stop us before."

"But we were just _talking_ back then…."

"Ah." He nodded and grabbed her hand. "C'mere."

He led her around the side of one of the white concrete pillars and backed up against it then drew her into his arms.

"Blindspot," he whispered against her lips just before he captured them with his own.

With her mind at ease, she gave in and wrapped her arms around his back and kissed him back fully, reveling in the warmth created from their embrace. And when his hands slid down her back and over the slope of her rear, she allowed a small moan to escape through her lips. She wasn't too cool to let him know that she liked it. Very much so...

 **Tuesday, March 7, 12:43 PM**

R: Same time, same place?

M: You read my mind. Yes.

R: See you tonight.

 **Wednesday, March 8**

Michonne glanced down at her watch then picked up her pace as she walked down the hall to her office. Allowing herself a few more minutes of shut eye, then indecision over what to wear, followed by taking a little extra time to pin her hair back, topped off by a longer than usual line at the coffee shop left her arriving to work with only two minutes to spare before the weekly 9:00 AM staff meeting.

She flew threw the door and slung her bags off her shoulder onto the desk then turned to leave in one swift move, but something caught her eye and stopped her in her tracks. She walked back over to her desk and sitting right there next to her keyboard was a mason jar with three white peonies in full bloom and a bag of Big Kats with a yellow Post-It note stuck to it. She walked over and pulled off the paper. _Just Because_ was scrawled in rough, angular script. She smiled, folded the note then stuffed it into the pocket of her black blazer and left for her meeting.

* * *

He pulled into his usual spot in the parking garage, turned the ignition off then let out a deep breath and ran his hand over his face, taking a moment to reset after his hour long commute. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at it. The face was blank except for the time and date. He sighed and put it back in his pocket then turned to gather his things from the passenger seat.

When he looked up, he saw a vision wrapped in a camel coat walking his way with a shy smile on her face. He opened the door and hopped out of the car then began to walk toward her until she held up her hand. He stayed in place and watched her saunter his way.

"When I didn't hear from you today, I figured I'd messed up," he confessed.

She smiled and shook head as she came before him then put her hand on his cheek and kissed him.

"It was perfect. I just wanted to say thank you in person," she said quietly. Her hand was still on his cheek and his arm was now slung around her waist.

"That's a relief," he huffed out. "You have a good day?"

"Pretty good," she shared with a smile. "You?"

"Better now."

"Were you really worried?"

"As the day went on, yeah," he admitted.

"You have no reason to be," she assured him. "I know you need to get to work, but I just wanted to see you."

"Yeah, Ray's a stickler for time. If you're not five minutes early, you're late."

"You should get going then."

"I've got about thirty more seconds to spare," he grinned. "You given any thought about what you want to do this weekend?"

"I have, actually…" she said coyly.

"I ain't got all day," he teased dryly as he glanced down at his watch.

"You should come over to my place. I can make dinner, watch that movie we missed out on last time...and talk and stuff," she added with self-aware giggle.

"You can't go wrong with that," he agreed.

"Oh, it could still go sideways," she shrugged. "We don't have a great track record."

"Nah," he said quickly, silencing her with a kiss. "It's gonna be perfect."


	11. Chapter 11

**Sunday, March 11**

White light rushed in, momentarily blinding him, the second he opened his eyes. He reflexively threw his hand over them and squeezed them shut again then restlessly rolled onto his back to avoid further assault from the rising sun shining through the window.

* * *

 _The little white bow made from the ties of her apron bounced atop her pert rear with each step as she rushed through her apartment. It was absolutely mesmerizing._

" _You can throw your coat on the couch." He looked up to find her lingering in the entrance of her kitchen, looking back at him. "Sorry, I'll hang it in a minute. I just need to flip the chicken."_

" _Yeah, it's no problem." He tossed his coat on the couch and followed her into the kitchen and over to the stove where she had three of the four burners covered with pots and pans. "What's going on over here?"_

" _Fricasse de poulet a'lancienne," she casually informed him as she attended to the chicken._

" _Come again?"_

 _She looked up and smiled. "Basically chicken and vegetables in a cream sauce. It's nothing fancy," she assured him. "Just went with an old family recipe. It's all about the sure thing tonight, right?"_

 _He watched her for a minute trying to discern whether she meant that as a tongue and cheek reference to the traditional third date events, but there was no waggle of an eyebrow or coy smirk, she just went right back to cooking._

" _Right...so French, huh?" he asked as he placed his hand on the small of her back, just above that bow._

" _Yeah. It's my great-grandmother's recipe." She must have noted a look of consternation on his face, so she explained. "My dad was born in France. Mom met him there while she was doing a semester abroad in college."_

" _Wow…"_

 _She glanced up and squinted her eyes at him. "Is that a deal-breaker for you?"_

" _No. Just didn't realize you were half French is all…" He cleared his throat and pushed back the sleeves of his hunter green sweater. "So what can I do to help?"_

" _Uh…" She paused to assess the status of the bubbling and simmering pots and pans on the stove then reached for her empty wine glass and presented it to him. "Refill my drink and grab one for yourself?" she asked with one of the prettiest smiles he had ever seen._

 _He accepted her glass and allowed her to point him in the direction of the proper cabinet to find his own. He picked up the already open bottle chilling in a marble cooler on her counter then turned it in his hand to see what it was they were drinking tonight._ _Domaine Vacheron 2015 Sancerre. It only furthered the sense that he was in a foreign territory._

 _He filled their glasses then passed hers back to her. She accepted it a smile and rewarded him with a peck on the lips._

" _Thank you," she whispered before raising her glass. "Here's to not screwing up another date."_

 _He chuckled and raised his in return. "Here's to another great date."_

 _She nodded and clinked her glass against his._

* * *

The bright white faded into a swirling pattern of blues, yellows, and purples and then darkness again. He hesitantly blinked his eyes a few times then lifted his hand away and turned his head. There she was, curled up on her side, body facing him as she slept right through the sunrise. At that moment, it occurred to him that he had never seen her in the light of day until now.

* * *

" _That's not a good look."_

 _He looked up from his plate and found her watching him expectantly from across the table, rolling the stem of her wine glass between her slender fingers._

" _No, it just got me thinkin' is all."_

" _OK…"_

" _It's good," he assured her. He stabbed his fork into the chicken breast and began cutting another piece. "Damn good actually. It just reminds me of something I've had before, but I can't quite place it…"_

 _He popped the bite into his mouth and looked upward as he chewed and pondered the flavors he was tasting. He could hear her laughing quietly at his goofiness as she rested her elbows on the table and leaned in in anticipation of his verdict._

" _Chicken pot pie without the pie."_

 _She slapped her free hand against her forehead and fell back into her chair with an outburst of laughter. Once it subsided, she pulled her hand down over her face and sighed._

" _Pretty much," she admitted. "See? I told you it was nothing fancy."_

* * *

The minute he walked through the door of her home, he was reminded of what vastly different lives they led. He'd known it from the start, of course, but had somehow forgotten it, or maybe even willfully ignored it, along the way.

It was undeniable, though, when faced with the modern decor in stark contrast to his own mishmash of traditional pieces, the artwork hanging on the walls like her own personal gallery versus the preschool art projects and A+ quizzes and tests that were plastered all over the fridge and bulletin board in his kitchen, the moody rhythms of jazz that would be drowned out by the cartoons and video games blaring from the television in his family room.

Now that he was there, he felt like a fool, to be honest, for thinking that this could ever work.

* * *

" _Thank you for doing that."_

 _He felt her arms wrap around his waist as she pressed a kiss into his shoulder while he finished drying the last pan. He placed it on the counter and turned in her arms, letting his forearms rest over her shoulders._

" _No problem."_

 _He leaned down to place a kiss on her lips. As they drew back, he noticed a mischievous grin developing on her freshly kissed lips._

" _So…"_

 _He quirked an eyebrow and repeated after her. "So."_

" _Another glass of wine...or is it time for some coffee…"_

 _As she trailed off, he noticed that the touch of her fingers on his lower back had gone from feather light to pressing._

" _...or neither?"_

 _He glanced down at the floor through the narrow crevasse of space between them and bit down on his lip then wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against the front of his body before he lifted to meet hers._

" _The last one," he managed to eke out._

* * *

Fool that he was, though, he just dove in deeper despite his mounting reservations and self-doubt.

* * *

" _Rick…..…"_

 _Her breath was warm and heavy in his ear as he moved over her and inside her. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to tune her out completely because to hear her. To feel her. He had been on the verge since almost the minute they hit her bed and he was trying with all of his might to just hang in until-_

" _Rick...Rick."_

 _He felt her fingers dig into his shoulders as she clenched around him and that was not something he could ignore. With the next stroke, he found release. He dropped from his hands to his elbows and rested his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath. He was almost afraid to open his eyes and read the verdict on her face. It was good for him, but then again, his bar was pretty low at this point._

 _He felt her hand wrap around the back of his neck as she lifted her head from the pillow and brought her lips flush with his ear._

" _Let's do it again," she whispered._

 _He huffed out a laugh and sigh of relief all at once then finally opened his eyes to find her staring back at him looking sated and happy. And incredibly sexy._

" _I'm gonna need a minute," he said truthfully, though she laughed like it was a self-deprecating joke on his part._

* * *

Somehow she was even more beautiful in full light, the dim lighting they always found themselves in hadn't been doing her any favors by any hiding flaws or imperfections.

Her locs were twisted into an artful mess of a bun on top of her head, her face soft and beautiful as she slept, and the white sheets draped over her just enough to keep the chill of the air off of her body, but leave her delicate collar bones and perfectly toned arms exposed for his appreciative gaze. She looked like something out of a scene from a movie or a painting, the perfect vision of a morning after.

He looked down at himself and the tufts of brown and grey hair covering his chest and trailing down his torso. The only definition he had were two faint grooves that ran down the sides of his abdomen. He placed his hand over the slight paunch of his stomach and looked back over at the vision beside him.

* * *

 _More than a minute, but less than an hour later he was right back on top and on his way to a repeat until he felt her start to slide out from beneath him. She gently pushed him onto his back then sat up and rose to her knees._

" _You sure?" he asked, his head hovering above the pillow._

 _She nodded and pressed his chest back with her hands as she climbed on top and straddled him. He released a shaky breath as he watched her slide onto him, then tensed and clenched his eyes shut at the sensation._

" _Michonne," he breathed out._

 _He ran his hands up her thighs and held on as she did the work, and it felt...sublime to just let go and let her take care of him this time the way he had for her._

* * *

 _Bzzzp…...Bzzzp_

He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes, finding himself startled out of the light sleep he must have drifted into. He turned his head on his pillow to see her finally beginning to stir beside him.

She yawned into her pillow then stretched her legs as long as they'd go causing the pads of her toes to peek out from beneath the sheets for just a moment before she curled her legs back up and rolled onto her side and opened her eyes then gave him a sleepy smile.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Was that your phone or mine?"

"Yours."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

She turned her torso away from him, pinning the sheet to her chest with one hand so as not to expose either of them, then grabbed her phone from the nightstand and settled on her back.

She began to laugh upon reading it then turned to him. "It's from my friend Eric at work. He says _Hope you're enjoying your lazy Sunday_ , he has no idea," she added as an aside, " _because next Sunday morning will be anything but."_

She sighed and put her phone back on the nightstand then rolled back onto her side to face him.

"What's happening next Sunday?"

"We have a family friendly event the third Sunday of every month and my department is hosting it next weekend," she explained. "It's a ton of work for us, but it's a really cool thing to see all of the families out enjoying the museum." Her eyes lit up and she reached over and grasped his arm excitedly. "Actually, you should bring your kids. They would probably love it, especially your little artist."

"Yeah…" He gave a slight nod. "Maybe."

He watched the excitement fade from her face as she grew quiet. A few seconds after it sank in, she nodded like she understood exactly why she had received that tepid response.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Her hand began to slide off of his arm, but he stopped her when he reached down to cover it with his own.

"No, you're fine," he assured her. "I'm just protective of them. I've never done this before, you know, dating with kids."

"Neither have I."

"For good reason, I'm sure. A divorced father of two...I come with some baggage."

She raised her brows and stared at him. "Yeah, OK...And I'm sure there are people who assume a single woman my age, never married, _never even engaged_ , comes with some baggage, too. Please," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm and disgust toward the world at large that planted these kinds of ideas in people's heads.

He couldn't help but smile. He wasn't a fool for forgetting how different they were on paper. He was a fool for forgetting the reason he had shown up on her doorstep with such anticipation the night before. Despite all odds, they had this connection, this uncanny ability to relate, and that was worth more than a thousand common interests ever would be.

He reached out and rubbed his finger over the stretch of sheet covering her belly. "You know, my mom always warned me about women like you…"

She laughed and swatted at his hand then clasped it with hers. "I wish my mom would have warned me about guys like you."

He smiled and rolled onto his side then laced his fingers through hers.

"Listen, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't serious. That's just not me."

She nodded readily because she was no fool. "We've kind of been in our own little world, and now real life is starting to creep in...and I'm OK with that, Rick."

"I am, too. I just want to do it right when it comes to them."

"You will," she assured him with a hushed whisper. "I have no doubt in my mind that you'll do the best thing...you already are."

He nodded his humble thanks then opened his arms to her. She slid under their shared covers and backed into the warm curve of his body, resting her head on one of his arms as he slung the other around her waist and nuzzled his face against her bare neck. He could hear and feel her moan softly and contentedly as he placed a series of gentle kisses down the length of it. She moved even closer against him and audibly sighed as she melted tino him. If this was what her idea of a lazy Sunday was, he was in. They laid like that for five? Ten? Twenty minutes? It was hard to say, and he wasn't necessarily counting.

"Rick?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"I was just thinking...when do I get to meet Miss Prissy Boots?"

His chest began to shake with quiet laughter. "You mean Miss Bootsie?"

She raised her head to look up at him. "Seriously?"

"They thought it was a good compromise."

In his head he was thinking _for now_ given how many names the poor thing had already gone through, but he didn't have the heart to given the genuine look of delight on her face. She laid her head back down on his arm, but the smile remained.

"Man, I'm good…"

"You are."

"I should get a prize or something."

"Yeah…" He pressed his lips against her neck and then worked his way onto her cheek. "You should," he murmured into her skin just before he hit her lips and rolled on top of her.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Some not so great feelings about the format and Rick last chapter...lol. I get it, I do. After 3 years of writing for this couple, playing with format and POV and such are one of the ways that I keep it interesting for myself, so thanks for indulging me from time to time and giving me the space to do so. :)**

 **This chapter is a return to the standard format, and it goes out to a certain guest reviewer who has been calling for the return of Abe. Hope you enjoy, dear!**

 **Wednesday, March 15**

Rick opened his mouth then bit down on his lower lip and shook his head as he reached for his coffee mug. He brought it to his lips to take a sip, then shook his head again in frustration and set it back down on the table.

"Can I a-"

"Shoot," Abe said without even looking up from the Western omelette on his plate that was three bites away from being extinct.

"-sk you somethin'?" he finished under his breath.

"Out with it already. You've been creepin' on me all morning."

He took a quick glance around the diner then leaned in over the table.

"So you know how they say you wait until the third date to have sex?"

"Third date, huh?" Abe scoffed as he pulled the paper napkin off of his lap and wiped his lips.

"I mean, that's what they say."

"Could be the first one, the second, the seventh, I mean hell, doesn't even need to be a date at all," he shrugged, "but if that's what _they_ say, sure. Go on."

Rick second-guessed his decision to bring this delicate matter up to his partner of all people, but then again, he didn't really have anyone else he felt like he could talk to, and it was going to burn a hole right through him if he kept in in any longer.

"So what I'm wonderin' is…" He paused because there was no coming back after this, then sighed heavily and relented. "When is it OK to introduce someone to your kids?"

Abe grinned as he balled the napkin up in his hand and tossed it on his empty plate. He pushed the plate aside then leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, his fingertips meeting to form a triangle with the point aimed directly at hs partner.

"I'm not sure if I can advise without further information on this someone," he informed his with a broad smile.

"I met her at the museum."

"At night? She on the cleaning crew or something?"

"No, she's a curator. She was working overtime on an exhibit so we'd see each other around and started talking. We seemed to hit it off, so I asked her out and we've been dating for about a month now," Rick explained.

Abe squinted hard and nodded along as he listened, like he was doing his best impression of a movie shrink.

"And how's that been workin' out for you?"

"It's good," Rick started. "We get along great. She's smart, funny, beautiful, down to earth…but I still don't know."

"About her?"

Rick shook his head. "About us."

"Ah, I see…" Abe nodded studiously as he brought his hand up to stroke his chin. "So you think she saw the you from across the room lookin' like an overgrown boy scout in your shit brown uniform and thought, _Boy Toy!_ "

Rick cocked his head to one side, unamused.

"Or do you think she laid eyes upon the off duty sherrif workin' the night shift and said _Hello, Sugar Daddy!_ "

Rick doubled down and arched a warning brow this time.

"What I'm gettin' at is, do you have any reason to believe that her intentions with you are anything but true?"

Rick dropped his defenses and shook his head. "No, not at all. It has less to do with her and more to do with Carl and Judith."

"And since neither of them is of age to make this type of decision..." He traced his finger round in a circle and ended with it pointed at Rick. "It really has everything to do with you."

"Yes, I suppose so," he admitted.

"See what Ol' Abe did there? That's some Oprah level shit there," he exclaimed, taking a moment to gloat before getting back to business. "What's the worst thing that could happen?

"They could be hurt...again."

Abe tapped his nose twice with his pointer finger. _Bingo_.

"But if you wait the magic number of days or months _they_ tell you to, it's guaranteed to work out, right?" he postulated. "Or at least if it doesn't, you're in the clear, right?" He shook his own head _no_ at that one. "The problem is I know you, and that's not how you operate. It could be ten months or ten years, and you'd beat yourself up regardless…"

Abe leaned in and looked him in the eye with as much sincerity as he'd ever seen from him.

"Richard, you're a miserable son of a bitch. I love ya, but you are," he explained before Rick could protest. "And yet for the past month, this woman has you glowing like a Goddamn Hendrix poster in a stoner's blacklight room, this morning excluded because you're lookin' a little pale and sour again," he digressed, "so I have to think that means she's good for you. Clearly, you want to keep movin' forward with her, and I say you've earned the right to trust what you're feeling...now I'm not sayin' you tell the kids to start callin' her mom _numero two-o_ tomorrow-"

"I wouldn't do that," Rick huffed.

"Well, no shit," Abe retorted.

Abe took a well-earned slug of his coffee and leaned back in the booth as Rick mulled over the approach he had suggested. Basically, just go with your gut and stop overthinking it.

"Thank you."

"You got it," he returned, raising his glass. "She must be a ten, huh?"

"Nah," Rick said quietly. "She's way beyond that."

"Oh, Richard's got himself a hot one here." Abe chuckled and nodded like a proud older brother. "Have I, uh, earned the privilege of knowing her name?"

"Michonne."

"Nice. Well, I do look forward to meetin' Michonne one of these days. And I promise I will be on my best behavior." He held three fingers in the air, _Scout's honor._

"And it still won't be good enough," Rick teased dryly.

"Hey, I am who I am."

 **Saturday, March 17**

" _Be like a cat, not like a dog_?"

Michonne jumped in her seat and pressed her phone against her chest to take it out of sight from prying eyes as quickly as possible.

"What are you reading?" Eric questioned as he walked around her.

"Nothing. That's incredibly rude, you know."

"So is playing with your phone at the table," he countered as he and Aaron took their seats across the table from her.

"Well, if you two hadn't left me waiting for so long…"

"That's on me," Aaron quickly confessed. "I apologize. I just lost track of time getting ready so first round is on me."

Michonne waved her hand, accepting his earnest apology and declining his offer all at once. She eased her phone away from her chest and slipped it into her purse then picked up her menu to take a look just as they were doing.

"So where should you be like a cat?" Eric asked as he looked up from his menu. "In bed? At the gym? At work?"

"Yeah," Aaron chimed in, looking up, as well. "My interest is piqued now."

Michonne peered at them from over her menu and just shook her head then returned her attention to the list of red wines.

"You know I could just Google it right now and find out for myself," Eric informed her matter of factly.

She quickly did the math in her head and figured there was more than a decent chance that he would probably find that article with that unique phrase, so she decided to spill.

"When you're meeting your significant other's children."

Eric's eyes grew wide and Aaron's mouth gaped open.

"I...well," Aaron stuttered. "That was the last thing I expected to hear."

"His mind is completely blown because I haven't even mentioned that there's a someone yet," Eric explained, "so yay for me." He raised his hands off the table for a little cheer.

"Yeah, you go boy," Michonne scoffed dryly.

"But, Michonne, what?" Aaron asked still reeling from her reveal.

"It's an article from the _LA Times_. This woman is saying that you shouldn't smother them. Give them space and time to adjust and let them warm up to you instead. So be like a cat in that regard."

"No, like, how did we even get to this point?" Aaron asked.

Michonne cupped her hand over forehead and sighed. "So I've known this guy, Rick," she corrected, "for about two months and we've been dating for a month or so now. He's divorced and has two kids from his previous marriage."

"How did you meet?" Aaron queried again as Eric sat back and enjoyed this reveal he had been patiently waiting for.

"At the museum."

But that reveal caused Eric to practically jump out of his chair. "What?!"

"You don't know him." She motioned for him to relax and sit back. "He covers the overnight security shift a few times a month. We would chat here and there while I was staying late to work on my proposal and it just went from there. He's just a really good guy, absolutely no pretense about him, and we just get along." She shrugged. "I don't know how else to explain it."

"Good looking?" Eric asked.

"Very," she nodded as a small smile crept onto her lips.

"So are you meeting the kids soon?" Aaron asked.

"No. I don't think he's ready for that yet."

"Are you?" he followed up.

She took in a deep breath and tilted her head, thoughtfully considering his question.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I know that my feelings for him are growing with each passing day, and considering how important his children are to him, of course I have a desire to meet them...eventually." She paused and stared at the small arrangement of white flowers in the middle of the table for a moment. She looked up at them and shook her head. "But it's such a huge part of who he is, so I don't feel like I'll truly know him until I do," she explained quietly.

Aaron and Eric exchanged a quick look then glanced her way with small, pitying smiles on their faces.

"And you were going to consult the internet on this one?" Eric asked.

"OK, I have a PhD. I'm a researcher by nature," she defended. "I was just trying to get as many perspectives as I could, especially since no one at this table has first hand experience with the matter."

"Fair enough," Aaron allowed, "but we are reasonable people who care about you, so…"

"So you can put away the phone, my love," Eric added, "and just talk to us."

"Or at least Aaron," Michonne teased.

"At least him," Eric agreed as he squeezed his partner's arm. "He's my go-to, too."

* * *

Michonne eased onto the edge of her bed and slipped her right leg though the front opening her robe then reached for the bottle of lotion she kept on her nightstand. She smoothed the thick cream over her hands and bent to do the same to her leg when her phone began to ring.

She sat up and looked over at her phone to see that it was him which was an unusual occurrence during the weeks he had his kids. She wondered if his ears had been burning since he had been the topic of conversation for most of her dinner. She reached over and answered the phone, putting him on speaker.

"Hi."

 _Hey. It's not too late, is it?_

She smiled to herself and bent down to smooth the lotion over her leg.

"Not at all. I was just getting ready for bed."

 _Glad I caught you then. How was your night?_

"Good. Just went out for an early dinner with Eric, the one I work with, and his partner, Aaron. What are you up to?"

 _Just put the kids down so now I'm just hanging out on the couch with Miss Bootsie._

"The other woman," she teased as she moved on to her left leg.

 _That's what she calls you._

"I'm gonna have to have a talk with her then…"

 _You hear that, Boots? She's comin' for ya._

"Yeah, with belly rubs and treats. I don't stand a chance."

They shared a laugh and once it had faded into quiet, she heard him take in a deep breath and let it out.

 _Well listen...I know you have a crazy day tomorrow, so I don't want to keep you too long, but I was just thinkin' a lot this week._

She slowly straightened up and capped the bottle of lotion. In her experience, half of all conversations that started this way ended badly hence the uneasy feeling that was creeping in.

"Yeah?"

 _Yeah...about you and me and where this is going._

"Mmm hmm."

 _I feel pretty certain that we're gonna keep right on going just like we have been..._

She looked up at the ceiling and offered her silent thanks to the universe.

"Me too."

 _So I think it'd be good for the you and the kids to start getting to know each other, slowly but surely...if that's something you want._

She smiled and bit her lip to silence the laugh that wanted to escape her lips. His ears must have been completely on fire.

"Yeah, I do. I think that makes sense. Just as someone who's in your life. A woman you work with, a friend, for now."

 _Yeah...sounds like we've been reading the same articles._

She allowed the laugh to come tumbling out over of her lips.

"Turns out I was doing some thinking this week, too," she admitted. "Although I'm pretty sure we would have worked this one out on our own in time."

 _Yeah, I think we would have...you know, if it wouldn't be too much of a distraction, I could bring the kids to your event tomorrow._

She smiled brought her hand to her chest while she nodded.

"No, I think that'd be perfect actually."


	13. Chapter 13

**Sunday, March 18**

 _Michonne, what's your 411?_

She furrowed her brow at Eric's request coming over the radio, plucked the walkie-talkie from the front pocket of her jeans, and brought it to her mouth.

"What?"

 _Your location._

She shook her head at his misguided attempt at radio shorthand. "The European art gallery."

 _What are you doing there?_

"I got drenched with yellow paint at the screenprinting station so I'm running to my office to grab a clean shirt. I'll be right back out."

 _You know it's just going to happen again._

She sighed, breathless, but thankful that she had worn her running shoes, as she darted through the empty gallery.

"Yeah, probably."

 _I know why you're changing…_

"Eric," she warned.

 _What? Ugh, we're getting slammed out here. Why aren't more people going up to the children's wing?_

"Everyone wants to be outside. It's the first nice day we've had in a while."

 _Not for me…_

She started to laugh, then threw her hand over her mouth when she realized there was actually someone in the gallery aside from her. He turned at the sound of her voice and she resumed her professional facade and nodded her apology.

"Well, I'll send some of some of the interns we put up in the children's wing down to help out," she said stiffly into the walkie.

 _Bless you, you're a goddess-_

She turned the knob to lower the volume and cut him off with the final click into the off position, then smiled ruefully at the young man who was still watching her.

"I'm sorry about that, that was rude of me. I didn't realize anyone was down here."

"It's cool," he shrugged.

As she moved closer, she realized that he was much younger than she had initially thought with his shaggy brown hair, big blue eyes, full freckled cheeks and awkwardly tall, gangly body that was the hallmark of adolescence.

"Are you OK? Did you get separated from your parents or something? I can call security," she offered as she held up her walkie.

He began to snicker quietly which caused her to roll her eyes at herself. He wasn't _that_ young.

"Right," she whispered with self-deprecation. "How come you're not outside?"

"I've never been here before, so I just wanted to explore…" The corners of his lips pulled into a small smile as his eyes glanced down at the large yellow blob that marred her grey long sleeved top and the slow running drips that threatened to claim her jeans, as well. "Plus I heard it's a shitshow out there."

She laughed reflexively, the juxtaposition of the bad word and snarky comment coming out of young man's mouth taking her by surprise and strangely delighting her.

"Yeah, well, you heard right," she answered honestly. "This sounds like a perfect way to spend an afternoon to me so enjoy."

She waved and took off toward her office, laughing to herself again at his use of the word _shitshow_. The kid had a dry sense of humor beyond his years which she certainly appreciated, even if she felt slightly guilty about it.

As she reached the exit to the gallery, she stopped and turned around to see him wandering aimlessly amidst the grand paintings of the Dutch Masters with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

"Hey, do you sketch?" He stopped and looked at her quizzically. "Like draw," she explained.

"A little bit when I'm bored in class."

She nodded, it was enough of a _yes_ for her.

"My grandmother used to take me museums when I was your age," she started. He continued to look at her like she had two heads, but she went on. "We'd each bring a journal, find a quiet spot in a gallery and just sit there and sketch for a while."

"What did you draw?"

"Sometimes I'd try to recreate what was in front of me…" She smiled thinking of her naively ambitious take on a Vermeer hanging in The Louvre the summer between sixth and seventh grade. "Or I'd draw something that it made me think of, or nothing at all...there's no right or wrong way to do it."

He shrugged and turned his lips downward, his bottom lip protruding slightly as he considered it.

"I have some extra sketchbooks in my office if you want to give it a try."

He glanced around the gallery, as if looking for inspiration of his own, then off to the left toward the exit that led outside, and finally back to her.

"Sure."

A small grin formed on her lips. "OK. Just give me a minute," she said as she started taking a few steps back in the direction of her office.

"Thank you, ma'am" he called out after her.

She turned and smiled at him. "No problem."

* * *

"Oh, I am so sorry!"

Michonne looked up from the streak of green running down the middle of her loose, white button down shirt, her mouth wide and hands outstretched at her sides, still in shock from the splash.

"No worries," she assured the woman as she recovered and reached for the now slim roll of paper towels on the table.

"Mariah, what do you say to the nice lady?"

The little girl frowned at her mother, who was now hovering over her, a hand on each shoulder.

"Mariah," she repeated firmly.

She looked up at Michonne, looking as pathetic as could be with a pout, eyes on the verge of tears, two missing front teeth, and smudges of green on her cheeks and nose.

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright," she said, forcing a light, breezy tone as she tore a paper towel off the roll and handed it to her. "Accidents happen. We'll hang up your shirt to dry and you can come pick it up before you go, OK?" The little girl nodded. "OK! Have fun!"

After she waved the mother and daughter off, she pulled the t-shirt out of the frame and turned to hang it on the clothesline strung between the poles of the canopy she was under.

"I told you it would happen again."

She looked up to see that Eric had made his way into her booth.

"Yeah, well…"

She clipped the second clothespin to the line and turned to join him at the table where he had started helping her tidy up to get set for the next wave of little ones.

"Only two more hours to go," he reminded her. "Unless you want to call it early…"

She looked up and gave him the eye for even tempting her like that then looked out over the crowd that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. It was two o'clock and she hadn't eaten anything since the double espresso and avocado toast she'd had for breakfast. She had a pounding headache, had already ruined two good shirts, and a fresh manicure. But despite it all, she found herself smiling.

Eric lifted a suspicious brow at her sudden zen and looked out to the crowd for a reason. Among the parties of four's and five's and general chaos, he spotted a father-daughter duo making their way through it.

"Is that him?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back, unable to take her eyes of them.

She watched him wandering through the crowd, looking left and right, presumably for her which gave her a small thrill, especially since he looked so good doing it in his jeans and untucked off-white button down shirt with that slight bow legged strut of his.

But for as good as he looked, he was being upstaged by the hip-height blonde with a killer sense of style holding his hand. She was definitely impressed with how the little girl was working her blue and pink floral shirt, denim skirtalls, navy tights, and little brown asskicking boots.

When Rick caught her eye, he nodded her way, and started walking towards them.

"Well done," Eric declared, delivering his approval with a golf clap. "I think I'm going to check on the paper mache station now..."

He backed away from the table, wondering if she had even heard him at all, then stopped and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be a cat," he whispered into her ear, "be a Michonne."

She placed her hand over his and squeezed it appreciatively then politely shooed him away. She looked down at the table and made like she was setting up, straightening the paints and shirts, then looked up and smiled at them just as she would with any other family as they stepped up to her booth.

"Hey there."

"Hey," she greeted, looking at Rick and then his daughter.

He grinned at Michonne then leaned down and placed his hand on his daughter's back.

"Judith, this is Miss Michonne. She works at the museum, too."

"Hi," she said shyly as she leaned into her father and pressed the side of her face into his side.

"Hi," Michonne greeted. "Looks like you went to the face painting booth already," she said, pointing at the purple and pink design on her left cheek. "That's a pretty butterfly."

"Thank you," she mumbled just before bashfully burying her entire face in his side.

Rick and Michonne took advantage of their unobserved moment to share a smile over Judith's sudden shyness.

"So what's going on over here today?" he asked.

"We're making shirts using screenprinting. Have you ever seen this before?"

"No," he answered honestly.

"Well, what we do is pick out a shirt," Michonne explained.

Judith turned her head slightly to sneak a peek at what the grown-ups were talking about, while said grown-ups purposely ignored her and carried on to create more intrigue.

"Then pick out a design, and then we run the paint over it and you have a pretty new shirt," she finished.

"Is that what it's gonna look like?"

Michonne looked down at Judith to find her pointing at her paint-splattered shirt with a dubious look on her face.

"No," Michonne huffed out with a laugh. "This is just me being messy. That's what they look like," she assured her, motioning toward the drying shirts hanging behind her.

The little girl's eyes widened. "Oh pretty," she cooed as she let go of her father's leg and slowly moved toward the table to get a better look.

"Yeah," Michonne agreed. "So you want to do it?"

She looked up her father who nodded his permission and then back at Michonne.

"OK."

"Alright, so do you want a red, blue, or green shirt?"

Judith placed her elbows on the table and rested her head between her two hands as she sized up her options.

"Red," she decided after a moment heavy thought.

"OK." Michonne picked up a red t-shirt and then pointed toward the plastic cut-outs. "And do you want to do a flower, a car, a butterfly, or a dog?"

"A doggie!" she exclaimed without hesitation.

Rick and Michonne began to laugh knowingly at her enthusiasm. He stepped up behind Judith and placed his hands on her shoulders as they each intently watched Michonne gather the rest of the supplies for Judith's design.

"I have a new doggie," Judith volunteered.

"You do?" Michonne asked as she set up. "What kind?"

"A girl dog."

"Oh, those are the best kind," she agreed, trying her best to avoid Rick's eyes for fear of breaking. "What does she look like?"

"She's black and brown and white," Judith answered, matter of factly with her head still propped between her hands, "and her ears are so soft."

"She sounds very cute," Michonne said as she finished putting the t-shirt under the frame and looked up.

"She is. I…" she stuttered, tripping over her words due to her eagerness to talk about her dog. "I named her Bootsie."

"Oh, is that how it went?" Rick asked from above.

Michonne bit down on her lip as she glanced at Rick, then placed her hand over her mouth to cover up what a poor job she was doing at not laughing.

"Yes," Judith insisted as she looked up at her father. "You and Carl wanted to call her Prissy Boots and I said _noooo_."

Michonne bit down harder on her lip as Rick's eyes widened incredulously at his daughter's recollection of events.

"Judy, I just don't recall that…"

"Daddy," she sighed with exasperation.

"Well, no matter who came up with it," Michonne cut in. "I think that's a great name."

"Yeah," Judith agreed. She gave her father a defiant look given Michonne's support then turned to her since she was on her side. "She has little white paws and legs," she explained using a wee voice and bringing her hands together to illustrate just how little and cute they were.

"Like little boots?"

"Yeah!" Judith exclaimed.

Michonne glanced at Rick who was shaking his head. She gave him a wink then leaned down to get Judith started on her shirt.

* * *

He smiled as she walked towards him and scooted over to make room on bench he was sitting on. She smiled appreciatively and eased herself into the empty space then folded her arms across her chest and turned her attention to the crowd. He let out a quiet laugh and folded his hands in his lap and returned his attention to the game of musical chairs Judith was currently owning.

"She's adorable."

"Yeah, she's an adorable little liar," he agreed.

"I know! Not cool, Judith."

"We'll call her out on it someday," he promised as they both continued watching the kids play.

She smiled to herself at the prospect of having that kind of relationship at some point in the not so distant future.

"Did your son decide to sit this one out?"

"No, he's around here somewhere. He wanted to do his own thing, so I thought it was best not to push it."

"Good call."

He glanced over at her, paint-stained and visibly exhausted, but no less beautiful or impressive in his eyes.

"You did a hell of a job with this."

She glanced at him and allowed a small smile before looking away again.

"Thank you."

"It's like a kid's birthday party times a hundred."

She laughed quietly as she looked around at the veritable wonderland she and Eric had created today.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"You deserve a bottle of wine, a nice hot bath, and a good, long massage."

"Mmm…" She placed her hand on her neck and rolled it, wishing it was his instead. "Well, I know what we're doing next weekend."

"How about tonight?"

"Rick," she gasped. She glanced over to see him looking ahead smiling like a devil.

"How about it?"

She shook her head and looked away. "You have the kids."

"I'm dropping them off at their mom's place right after this. I can head right back over."

"Rick," she chided.

"I miss my girlfriend," he said simply.

She stifled a smile as she forced herself to stare at the crowd like she was actually working and not having a very personal conversation.

"What if I come over to your place after I wrap up here?"

She glanced over in time to catch the stupefied look on his face.

"I miss my boyfriend," she explained.

"Hey."

They both turned at the sound of the voice coming from behind them. Michonne recognized the person walking toward them as the young man she had run into in the galleries earlier that afternoon. She stood and turned to greet him, but Rick beat her to it.

"Hey."

"I've been looking all over for you," he said to Rick as he approached them. "You said to meet at the front entrance at 4:00."

"You're absolutely right, I did. Sorry about that. I had just stopped to say hi to Michonne, here," Rick explained as he motioned toward her. "She works at the museum with me."

Her eyes shifted from the boy to Rick as he turned toward her.

"This is my son, Carl."

"Yeah, we met earlier," Carl informed him impatiently.

Rick turned toward Michonne who slowly tore her eyes away from the boy she now knew as Carl.

"You did?" he asked her.

"Yeah, we ran into each other in the galleries," she explained before returning her attention to Carl, trying to play it cool. "What did you think?"

"It was fun. I ended up hanging out in the photography galleries mostly."

"Nice. Did anything stand out?"

"Yeah, I really liked-"

 _Michonne, what's your 411?_

Michonne looked down at the walkie on her hip and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Carl."

"No, that's OK. You're working."

 _Michonne. I repeat, what's your 411?_

Rick cringed at his butchering of radio lingo. "It's your 20," he informed her as he watched her pulled the walkie from her pocket. "Location is 20."

"Thanks." She raised the walkie to her lips and pressed the button. "My _20_ is the bench by the entrance."

 _Well, excuse me._

She shared a look with the two Grimes boys who were quietly laughing at the exchange.

"What's up, Eric?"

 _I've got two missing kids at the paper mache tent and security is nowhere to be found. Help? Please?_

"Typical," she shot back into the walkie. "Present company excluded, obviously," she said off mic to Rick.

He waved her off knowing how useless the off duty guys could be given their discussions. "You need help?" he asked.

"No. You enjoy your day off. We'll take care of it. Carl," she said turning to the boy," it was really nice to meet you today."

"Nice to meet you, too." He reached up to shake her hand and then offered up the sketchbook she had given him. "Here's your book back."

"No, you keep it," she insisted as she pushed it away.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I've got plenty of them."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. And I'll see you around, I'm sure," she said as she turned to Rick.

"Yep," he nodded.

 _Michonne?_

"Yes, I'll be right there," she said into the walkie as she turned to leave.

She waved goodbye and they waved back then watched her rush in direction of the booths on the other side of the lawn.

"She's really cool," Carl said in her wake.

"Yeah, she is," her father agreed. "Listen, why don't you watch your sister while I get the car out of the garage then meet me upfront."

"OK."

He patted his son on the back then started to walk across the lawn. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone, pulled up her last message and began to type. He knew she was busy, but he just needed to put it out there.

"I never got a chance to answer you. Yes, you should come over tonight. And if you're too tired, I'll come to you."

He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but felt it buzz in his hand. He looked down to see her response.

 _I'll be there._


	14. Chapter 14

**Monday, March 19**

The soft beams of light that had managed to stream through the tree limbs and curtained windows had gently warmed her awake to find that morning had arrived. It was a stark contrast to mornings in her bedroom where the unfiltered sun, with nothing to buffer its heat and light on the 18th floor, often had her waking up in a restless fit as she tried to shed the covers and shield her eyes.

* * *

 _She could hear his footsteps and the alternating light scratching and prancing of paws against the hardwood floor before she saw his face appear in lead glass window of his front door. He grinned then glanced down below him and met her eyes again._

" _You ready for this?"_

" _Yes."_

" _You sure?" he asked, his knowing grin growing wider._

 _She began laugh and reached for the door knob, jiggling it to no avail._

" _Just open the door already!" she whined._

 _He made her wait just a few more torturous seconds before unlatching the lock and slowly cracking the door. Before she could even step one foot inside, twenty-five pounds of fur and energy was upon her._

" _Oh my god! Hi!" she shrieked in that involuntary high-pitched, excitable voice that could only be elicited by babies and small fuzzy animals._

 _She planted her right hand behind her on the wood planks of the front porch to keep from being completely bowled over and reached to pet the little mutt with her other hand._

" _Yes, I know, Miss Bootsie. Hi," she cooed, trying to calm the pup to get a good look at her, but it was useless. With paws on her chest and shoulders, a tongue and wet nose on her cheeks, she just wrapped her arms around the dog and surrendered. "Hi hi hi hi hi," Michonne repeated, matching Bootsie's energy as she licked her face repeatedly._

" _Now you two got me feelin' like the other man over here," Rick said from above._

 _She pulled her face away from the puppy and looked up at him. "Please."_

 _He gave her his own version of a sad puppy dog face, so she wrangled herself away from the dog and wiped the back of her hand across her face as she stood up. All the while, the dog continued to jump on her leg and try to bite at the corner of her duffel bag like it was a game. She reached for his hand and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek._

" _Hi," she said sweetly._

" _Hey." He continued to hold her hand in his as he motioned toward the disheveled couch and clutter on the coffee table in the living room behind them. "Sorry the place is a mess. I didn't have a chance to clean up after the kids."_

" _No worries."_

" _Wine?"_

" _Yes."_

 _He led her toward the kitchen by hand while the puppy trotted behind them, sporadically jumping up to claw at her bag to try to regain their focus._

* * *

She could still hear him snoring softly over her shoulder as she laid in his arms in the same position she had fallen asleep in. She smiled to herself as she thought about how their relationship had snuck up on her just like the morning sun; quiet and unassuming at first, but steadily growing in intensity with every interaction...

* * *

" _So what do you think?"_

 _She smiled as a glass of red wine appeared over her shoulder. She took the glass from his hand, leaving it free to wrap his arm around her her. She leaned back into him and rested her head against his chest as she continued to study one particular work of art hanging on the center the refrigerator door._

" _It reminds me of something hanging in one of my galleries," she teased._

" _Mmm." She could feel him smiling against the side of her cheek as he finished the sip of wine he had just taken. "She has inspired countless artists…"_

" _Ah, well, with her innovative use of color and texture, I can see why."_

 _He lifted his hand holding the glass of wine and traced along the zags of color extending beyond the lines of the drawing with his finger._

" _Also notice the clean lines and precision. It's unparalleled."_

 _She dropped her chin to her chest and laughed quietly. Not at Judith's age appropriate technique, but at the adorable game he was playing._

" _Cute," she declared as she shook her head. She turned to face him and wrapped her arm around his neck as his hand fell to her waist. "You're very cute, you know that?"_

" _Can't say I've heard that one before."_

" _Mmm." She arched a brow skeptically. "Well you are."_

 _He pursed his lips, his expression reading bashful and self-assured all at once which, she had recently identified, was the thing about Rick Grimes that made her weak in the knees. She placed her arms over his shoulders, mindful of the glass of wine dangling from her fingers, and pressed against him as he captured his lips with hers._

 _It always felt like he was breathing her in as they kissed; she felt herself drew up on her tip toes and her free hand grasped at the brown t-shirt covering his back in response to that pull she felt. He backed her up against the refrigerator to keep their balance causing the papers to crinkle with their contact. The force sent a few falling and scattering across the ground beneath them prompting Bootise to jump up from her spot under the table and chase after them._

" _Sorry," she whispered._

" _Couch?" he murmured against her lips._

" _Uh uh."_

" _Bed?"_

" _How about that bath first?"_

* * *

...until it could no longer be denied because it was as plain as the day before her: they were falling in love.

* * *

 _She idly filled her cupped palm full of water and poured it over the length of her arm as she watched him drop his t-shirt to the bathroom floor then start to unbuckle his belt._

" _Water OK?"_

 _She nodded wordlessly. It was plenty warm, but cool enough to slow them down for a moment, allowing her to appreciate the sight of him, of his effortlessly lean frame._

 _Her eyes followed his jeans down his legs until they bunched around his feet. He stepped out, on calloused foot after the other, and kicked a rubber duckie out of the way then dragged a light pink footstool over to the side of the tub. He took the lit candle and his glass of wine that were on the counter, and set them on the stool then looked down and gave her a small grin as he stood at the edge._

 _She leaned forward and bent her knees to clear a space behind her. He stepped in, hissing as each cold feet stung when it hit the warm water. He braced a hand on each side of the old claw foot tub and lowered himself in, letting his legs slide alongside hers. He wrapped his arms around her chest and pulled her onto him him as he leaned his back against the cool porcelain. Once he had settled in, he let out a heavy sigh._

 _She smiled and nuzzled into him. "I know."_

 _He reached for his glass of wine and took a sip then handed it to her._

" _So how was today for you?" he asked quietly._

" _A little nerve wracking," she admitted. "But more good than anything. Judith was no problem, but I'm glad I met Carl on my own terms. I'm going to have to earn my place with him."_

" _You think?"_

 _She took a sip and passed the glass back to him._

" _Yeah. He's a really cool kid, but he's got a little edge to him."_

" _He does," Rick allowed._

" _And I appreciate that," she clarified. "My sense is just that he's not going to be easily won over with a sketchbook and a few fun days out. I have my work cut out for me, but I'm down."_

 _Rick took another sip then set the glass down and embraced his girlfriend with both arms again._

" _Well, he actually told me you were cool."_

" _For a coworker," she was quick to point out. "The standards for dad's first girlfriend after mom are going to be much higher."_

 _"Don't sell yourself short…he's not a bullshitter."_

" _No," she agreed. "He doesn't strike me as one at all."_

" _So I think we gotta take him at his word for now."_

" _For now," she granted._

 _She mindlessly stared at the faucet, watching for the occasional drip that would fall into the tub, while she slowly rolled her ankle in circles, grazing the bottom of his feet with her toes each time she passed. She felt him sigh deeply as he gave into the lull of relaxation and slid a little deeper into the water then dropped his scruffy chin on her shoulder._

" _How was it for you?" she asked quietly._

" _Easy."_

" _Easy?" she asked, tilting her head back slightly to catch his eye._

" _Yeah," he confirmed with a quiet laugh. "I went into it with no expectations and no pressure since I knew you'd kill it." He playfully jostled her in his arms and she allowed a smile at his faith in her. "Now they both know you, and first impressions were good all around, so, yeah, I'd say it went went as well as it could have."_

" _I guess so."_

" _Judy is so damn excited about that shirt. She's planning on wearing it to school tomorrow."_

" _Really?"_

" _Yeah, she was showing it off to her mom when I dropped them off. Couldn't wait to run upstairs and try it on."_

 _Michonne tried to imagine what she would pull together around the red shirt with the outline of a purple dog on it, but the possibilities were endless and likely nothing her adult mind could even come close to predicting._

" _I can't wait to hear what she puts together."_

" _I'll see if I can get Lori to grab a picture for me."_

 _Michonne paused at the mention of his ex-wife's name. Of course she knew that this woman was more than the distant figure that was his ex-wife or the children's' mother. She was a real person that would need to be factored into this relationship, as well, at some point. It just hadn't occurred to her that it would be so soon._

" _Does Lori know? About us?"_

" _Yeah. I called her yesterday to give her a head's up about what we were planning on doing."_

" _And she's OK with it?"_

" _Yeah. She's doin' it herself actually. She's been seeing somebody for the past few months. He's someone the kids have grown up around, so they know him, but they don't know about the relationship yet."_

 _Michonne raised an eyebrow. It sounded like an interesting situation to say the least, but she wasn't going to explore it any further. At least not in this tub, and not tonight. They had better things to do._

" _This is a lot of change for Carl and Judith," she mused instead._

" _It is, so we'll just keep taking it slowly with them."_

" _Of course," she nodded against his chest._

" _But you and me?"_

 _He shoulders tensed from the ticklish sensation of his breath in her ear and chin against her cheek._

" _Mmm hmm?"_

" _We'll keep doing our thing," he whispered._

 _A smile spread across her lips as she relaxed and melted back into him._

" _Yeah, we will."_

* * *

She buried her face in the pillow and grinned heartily as it dawned on her that she had just lived out one of her teenage fantasies of sharing a romantic bath with a handsome lover like something out of a romance novel or film.

She had always dreamed that it would happen one summer while visiting her grandmother in France. She would meet a tall, dark, and handsome young man on one her day trips to Paris; they would fall for each over long lunches at quaint bistros and cafes, afternoons at The Louvre, and late night walks through the cobblestone streets; and by summer's end, they would be sharing his bed and taking leisurely baths in the clawfoot tub in his flat in Le Marais. At the end of the summer, they would exchange a passionate and angsty goodbye, and leave their future to fate.

It was a beautiful vision of what she thought an adult love affair to be, the product of youthful naivete and a budding curatorial mind, but one that had never come to fruition for her.

* * *

 _His lips replaced his hands on the nape of her neck and shoulders as they ran down her sides and beneath the water where they met over her stomach. In her relaxed state, she kept her eyes closed as she tilted her neck to the side to grant him new territory to pleasure._

 _While his mouth opened against her skin and his tongue lapped against the curves of her neck, one hand ventured deeper underwater while the other resurfaced and settled on one of her breasts. His strong hands began to massage her again, this time bringing about a much different type of pleasure. Her lips parted as she let out a soft moan and arched against him while bringing her hand behind her to clutch the back of his neck._

* * *

There had been countless handsome men, a few good relationships, some evenings in the most romantic settings, and her fair share of great sex, but none of it, reality or fantasy, had anything on this moment...

She turned to face him, and traced her fingers along his forehead, brushing his short, tousled curls back into place, then down his cheek, across his slightly parted lips, and down to his bare chest. His eyes began to flutter upon her touch and when they opened, they immediately met hers and she was greeted with a sleepy morning smile.

...and certainly not on this man. This would be the great love of her life.

 _ **AN: I know, I'm sorry, but I had to bring back the dreaded format change. Thank you for reading and thanks for sticking with me!**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Saturday, May 19**

"You already ate, baby girl. This is _my_ breakfast."

The pup tilted her head, encouraged by the soft voice he had used, and remained sitting at attention, her eyes trained on the bowl of lukewarm oatmeal her dad was shoveling into his mouth as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He was always the first to rise and last to eat these days thanks to her and the kids. He took another bite and shook his head at her shameless begging and his own lack of resolve, then reached behind him for the jar of dog biscuits and tossed one her way.

"So who all's coming today?"

Rick looked up to see Carl sidling up next to him at the kitchen counter.

"Just my friend, Michonne."

"Is that different than the Michonne you work with?"

Rick paused and looked at his son curiously then shook his head _no_ as he took another bite of oatmeal.

"Then why do you always call her _my friend, Michonne_?" he asked, adopting his father's deeper tone and twang for the direct quote.

"Because she is," he shrugged.

"You don't really have any other girls that are friends."

"Sure I do."

"Mom's friends and your friends' wives don't count," Carl shot back quickly.

Bootsie continued to sit at their feet, ears perked up, and head tilting in the direction of the voice as they went back and forth. Her face landed on Carl's as Rick went quiet.

He squinted his eyes and stared at his son for a moment who couldn't even bother to make eye contact as he rearranged the apples and oranges in the fruit basket sitting on the counter. The kid had clearly walked into this kitchen with a point to make.

"Is there something you're gettin' at, son?"

"Is there something you're not?" he asked.

He finally looked up at his father who was tight-lipped as he tried to shrug it off which caused him to throw his hands up in frustration and take off.

"God, I feel like I'm talking to my friends at school," he muttered to himself. When he reached the back door, he turned around. "Is Michonne your girlfriend?" he asked plainly.

"Well-"

"Dad, it's yes or no," he said with exasperation.

"Yes."

"That's all you had to say. Damn," he whispered under his breath as he began to unlock the door.

"Language," Rick called after him.

He could hear Carl scoff under his breath as he shook his head. "Come on, Boots."

The pup perked up at the mention of her name and pranced across the kitchen to follow brother out onto the side porch. As soon as he stepped through the door, he came face to face with Michonne who was just arriving.

"Hey Carl."

"Hey," he muttered as he squeezed out past her. "I know and it's cool."

"OK…"

She squinted her eyes as she watched him walk down the stairs into the backyard then looked up at her boyfriend through the open door. He jabbed his spoon into the now congealed oatmeal and tossed the entire bowl into the sink.

"What the hell was that about?" she asked as she entered with caution.

"He knows," Rick sighed. "About us."

"Oh." She looked back through the door at Carl moping through the backyard as Bootsie bounded alongside him trying to engage him in a some play. "Well that went well…"

"Yeah," he huffed out sarcastically.

"So that just leaves Judith then?" Michonne asked as she walked toward him.

"Yeah."

"Where is she?"

"Playin' in her room," he answered with a nod toward the back of the house.

"Guess I can finally do this then…"

She stepped in front of him, placed her hands on his tense shoulders, and began to knead them gently. His grimace gave way to a grin and she smiled before swooping in for a quick peck on the lips.

"Sorry, I just..he blindsided me."

"That's OK. Why don't you get Judy and I'll go talk to him?"

"You sure you wanna do that?"

"Gotta start sometime, right?"

He turned his face to brush a quick kiss over her knuckles before she let her hands fall down and made her way into the backyard.

* * *

"Carl."

He turned his head slightly and slowed at the sound of her voice, but maintained his distance by staying a half step ahead. Luckily she was able to close the gap since her legs were just a little longer than his, though not for much longer at the rate he was growing.

"I'm fine," he answered presumptively, staring straight ahead to where Bootsie had her little nose to the ground, sniffing around like the good hound that she was.

"You don't seem fine."

"I'm OK with you and my dad being together."

"Cool...then what's bothering you?"

She got him. He finally slowed his pace then looked at her. He ran his hand through his hair and his lips twisted while he struggled with which words to share with her.

"I just don't like being lied to," he explained. "It's not like I didn't figure it out a while ago."

"I hear you. That's a shitty feeling."

"Yeah, it is."

"I'm sorry that we made you feel that way."

"It's not you, it's my dad."

"No, it's _us_ ," she corrected. "We just thought it was best to take a laid-back approach and not throw some crazy new lady into your lives all of a sudden."

"You're not crazy."

"I could have been."

"But you're not."

"I guess it's good thing you got to know me first then…" The corner of her lip had pulled into a smirk.

"Guess so." And now Carl was grinning, too.

It felt like a moment that should end with a hug, but she hung back, not wanting to force one more thing on him today. He rustled the grass with the toe of his shoe then clapped his hands twice, bringing Bootsie barreling their way. He turned and they began slowly walking back towards the house.

"So...let's say I didn't like you, that you were crazy…"

Michonne glanced at him with concern, fearing that she was already losing the ground she had just gained with him.

"What would have happened?"

"I'd be a goner," she said certainly.

"My dad really likes you, though."

"But he _loves_ you," she pointed out as she bumped her shoulder against his while they walked side by side. "Your father could never be with someone who didn't get along with his kids and have their best interests in mind. There's no way."

"But what if she was just pretending to like us so she could be with him?"

MIchonne shot him an incredulous look which caused him to laugh.

"You are full of hypotheticals today…" She paused to look him in the eye. "I mean, that is hypothetical, right?"

"Yeah," he laughed.

"OK…" She thought as she put one foot in front of the other again. "Um...no. No. I just can't see that happening. I think you and your father are pretty good at seeing through the bullshit, you know?"

"Yeah, we are," he agreed with a small proud smile. "Are you guys gonna tell Judith?"

"I guess that's the next step. I have no idea how to go about it, though," she sighed. "You got any ideas?"

"I wouldn't tell her just because I don't think she'll get it yet. She already likes you alot, so she'll probably just be happy that you're around more."

"Good point. We'll have to bring that up to your dad."

"You two ready?"

They looked up the see Rick standing on the back porch with a tote bag slung over his shoulder and car keys in hand.

"Yeah," Carl called back.

Rick's eyes drifted to Michonne and he gave her the slightest raise of an eyebrow to which she gave a very subtle nod back. _Yes, everything was alright._ He pressed his lips together instead of smiling and exhaled the breath he was holding in.

"Michonne!"

Her eyes fell from her boyfriend to the little blonde who had appeared beside him. She was decked out in a pink gingham sundress with white sandals, yellow heart-shaped sunglasses and a straw purse ready to give all the debutantes a run for their money at the town's Mayfest today. She practically flung herself off the porch and ran toward Michonne. She could only rival the social debs in fashion, though, because graceful she was not. Carl shook his head and glanced up at Michonne as his sister threw her arms around her waist.

"See?"

* * *

Rick and Michonne were lounging on a well worn patchwork quilt in the middle of the town's grassy square, just two of the many out enjoying the beautiful spring day and festival. A blues band played on the stage at the front of the lawn, the savory smell of burgers and sweet smell of funnel cakes mingled with each other and wafted through the air, and the warm sun shone down on them.

He was laying on his back with his legs stretched out while she sat cross-legged next to him, watching him flip through the prints she had just bought from one of the art vendors set up on Main Street.

"How do you decide what's good and what's not? " he asked as he lowered the prints and laid them on his chest.

She tilted her head curiously at him.

"They all looked pretty good to me, so I'm just wondering how you tell…"

She plucked them from his grasp to give them a thoughtful once over, then slid them back into the paper bag and set it on top of her purse.

"Well, it's not really a question of good or bad," she started.

She uncrossed her legs and straightened them in front of her then leaned back on her elbows, hesitant to lay all the way down next to him given how accustomed they'd grown to keeping a friendly distance between them in his town and in front of his children over the past few months.

"It's whether it moves me or not. I can always recognize the objective talent, appreciate the technique and effort an artist put into his or her work,...but if I've seen a hundred other paintings just like it before then it doesn't really do anything for me here," she said, pointing to her heart, "or here." She moved her finger rested it on her temple.

"Makes sense..."

"Eric always compares curating to dating…" she said with a laugh as she thought of her self-described _wise_ friend. "You'll meet hundreds, if not thousands, of attractive men and women in your life, but only a handful will have that special thing that makes you fall in love with them."

"Now that I can relate to."

She smiled knowingly at him and shook her head. "Me too."

He held her gaze, smiling wider as he propped himself up on his elbows to come face to face with her then began to lean in closer. He didn't give a damn who saw them, in fact, it was about time they all knew.

"I have to go potty!"

They looked up to see Judith crashing down onto their blanket in dramatic fashion as Carl helplessly followed. They both returned to their sides of the blanket and sat up.

"Carl won't let me."

"Judith, I can't go in there," he explained for the hundredth time as he pointed towards the women's restrooms.

"I'll take you," Michonne decided as she popped up onto her feet. She grabbed Judith's hand and helped her back onto her feet, as well. Once the little girl was standing she smiled and gave her hand a squeeze and pulled her along. "Let's go."

"Sorry." Carl plopped down into the empty space beside his father. "I'm trying to keep her busy."

"You don't have to do that."

Carl sighed as he heard the bells and whistles of the mini-locomotive that had been running a constant loop around the town square all morning.

"All she wants to do is ride that little train around. Over and over again…"

Rick smiled and patted his son on the back. "We'll take her off your hands. I'm sure you've got some friends runnin' around here that you'd rather hang out with."

"It's OK," Carl insisted.

They fell silent while Carl's attention was drawn to the band playing some song he knew he'd on the radio before. Rick watched him for a moment, happy that he seemed to be in a better mood than he'd woken up in; then again, as Michonne had so astutely pointed out one time, he did have that edge to him. Even on a good day.

"Listen, I was plannin' on tellin' you tonight," Rick confessed.

Carl looked up at his father and squinted his eyes in the face of the sun shining from behind him.

"It's the first time we've all hung out on our own," Rick went on, "so I figured I'd just let it happen and explain afterwards. I wasn't tryin' to hide anything from you. I just wanted to make sure everyone got a fair chance to get to know each other…"

"It's cool," Carl shrugged.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"You'd tell me otherwise?"

"Dad," he groaned. He shook his head and looked away again.

"OK, OK…"

 _AN: Hey all-sorry this one took a little longer than usual to get out!_

 _A few of you wondered whether Michonne's position as a folk and self-taught art curator and her philosophy on art were a nod to fanfic writers and fan artists. I wish I was that good, but sadly I'm not. At most, that was my subconscious slipping into my work._

 _The Folk and Self Taught Art Collection is an actual collection at The High Museum of Art in Atlanta, though. I thought it was a cute nod to the crafty aesthetic of the Rainbow Cat and Junkyard Cat that Michonne loves so much in canon, and I also thought it was a nice bridge between Rick's small town life and Michonne's big city life. I'm a huge nerd when it comes to making these stories as real as possible, and I spend a lot of time researching, so I thought I would share for anyone who cared. :)_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	16. Chapter 16

**Monday, August 7**

"Officer Grimes."

"Good evening, sir." Rick saluted the former cop as he walked through the main entrance of the museum.

"I've been waiting all week to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?" Rick asked as he hoisted his bag off of his shoulder and onto the security desk.

"Yeah. I've got some big news," Ray informed him from the seat he had usually long vacated by this point in their exchange.

"Good, I hope." Rick leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

"I think so. I'm retiring...for good this time."

"Congratulations." Rick gave him a genuine smile and reached out to pat the side of his arm. "I'll be sad to see you go, but it's well deserved. You got any big plans?"

"Gonna finish the journey and head all the way down south to Palm Beach to join the rest of the retirees from up north," Ray joked, laying on his thick Yankee accent.

"Well, good for you."

"Yeah," Ray sighed happily as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm looking forward to some sun, some early bird specials and some time on the shuffleboard courts with my wife."

Rick smiled politely. It wasn't his scene at all, but he could more than appreciate the appeal of slowing it down and spending some more quality time with the woman he loved. But then again, if that's what Michonne wanted, he'd be right by her side in a light blue Guayabera shirt, khaki shorts, sandals, sunburn and all.

"Say, how long have you been on the force?"

Rick squinted, clearing the distracting visions of the future from his head, particularly of his love in a swimsuit and sarong, and did the reverse math.

"Eighteen years."

"So you're not too far off from your first retirement yourself?"

"On paper," he allowed. "I've got two kids to put through college, though."

"Been there, done that," Ray commiserated as his eyes drifted toward the framed picture of his adult children and their children on his desk. "You ever thought about doing something like this?"

Rick wrinkled his nose as he stared down at the desk and bank of monitors that hardly seemed like the key to financial security. "Private security guard?"

"No," Ray snorted as he looked up at Rick. "More like director of security."

"Can't say I have. I always figured I'd spend my entire career on the force."

Ray shrugged knowingly then pushed himself up from his chair, and undid the top button of his navy blue suit jacket now that he was officially off duty. He picked up his briefcase and turned to look at Rick who was still staring expectantly at him. He began to chuckle, some stereotype about southerners being a little slow on the uptake coming to mind.

"Well, obviously there's going to be a position opening here soon, and I'd strongly encourage you to apply," he state explicitly. "None of my day guys have a background in law enforcement which is a must. They're all just glorified concierges. Plus you've proven to be smart, hard working, and invested in this place."

"Thank you, sir," Rick said quietly and humbly.

"On top of that," he added, "it's more than decent pay and benefits, banker's hours, and great experience to move on to bigger positions if you're so inclined. And it affords you a safer work environment which, as a father of two young kids, is worth more than anything in this world if you ask me..."

"What I do is nothing compared to NYPD."

"Doesn't have to be. All it takes is one encounter with the wrong people. Just one." He smiled self-consciously as he realized how macabre the conversation had turned. As someone who had found himself in some dangerous situations and seen some terrible things in his time, it was hard to remember that not everyone could appreciate his grim realism. "Anyway...I just wanted you to know that if you're interested, you have my recommendation."

"I appreciate that," Rick nodded.

"Now don't sit on it too long." Ray pointed a warning finger as he rounded the corner of the security desk on his way out. "A cush job like this is going to be in high demand and they'll no doubt get some good candidates. Think about it. I'll see you tomorrow night."

He gave Rick a final wave and turned his back as he headed toward the door. And of course, now that it had sunk in, all of the questions he should have asked him while he was standing right there came bubbling up in his mind and one managed to spill out.

"Ray?"

He turned, one hand on the door, and looked back at Rick.

"Are there any policies on fraternization here?"

"Like they have on the force?" Ray asked, to which Rick nodded his head. "Lucky for you, no," he answered with a smirk.

Rick tilted his head questioningly.

"There are cameras everywhere," Ray explained as he motioned to the little black globes that dotted the white walls and ceiling. "I always review the tapes when I have a new guy on nights."

Rick's lips sloped into a frown. "Shit."

"Don't worry, I stopped after a couple of weeks with you. Watching you do laps around the museum bored me to tears, plus I'm not one for romance movies," he teased. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

Rick nodded and waved him off again from behind the security desk then looked down at the monitors and felt his frown begin to fade away as movement on monitor ten captured his attention.

* * *

He walked into the gallery, putting his weight on the balls of his feet to keep the heels of his boots from clacking against the floor, to find her just as he had on the monitor: sitting on a bench in the middle of an empty room in her worn jeans and navy blue hoodie, hands folded on her lap, staring at a blank wall.

As he got closer, he could see that she had her earbuds in, which is why she hadn't noticed his presence yet. He pinched the tip of the hoodie in his fingers and pulled it over her head, causing her to turn and look up at him. She pulled her earbuds out and smiled upon seeing him.

"You again," he teased as he sat down next to her.

"I'm ba-ack," she sang. She pressed her lips against his to greet him then leaned into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and looked around the empty space for himself.

"How did day one go?"

"We got a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Once they dry, we can start hanging pieces."

"So you're literally gonna sit here and watch paint dry?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but I'm also going to hang out with my boyfriend."

"Oh so that's what's going on…"

"Yep." She smiled and nuzzled into his side as he tightened his arm around her.

"Since I had a feeling I'd be running into you, I brought ya something."

He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a Big Kat bar he'd bought from the vending machine at the sheriff's department on his way out of his day job.

Her eyes grew wide along with her smile, and she didn't hesitate to pluck it from his hands. It was her after-hours go-to after all, and she was back in that mode.

"Just like old times..." She tilted her head up and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "Thanks, babe."

He nodded and smiled as he watched her tear into the package, opting to take a bite straight from the bar instead of breaking off a piece like most people would. It was one of the quirks he enjoyed so much about her, a reminder that despite all appearances, she didn't completely outclass him, just mostly.

"Mmm," she sighed after her first bite. "Tell me about your day. And don't say _same old, same old_."

He began to chuckle because she knew him just as well as he knew her. "I wasn't going to, actually. I just found out Ray is retiring next month, had you heard?"

"No. Good for him."

"Yeah…" He glanced down at her, surprised by her nonchalant response...or not, finding himself wondering just want kind of relationship a curator and a director of security might have. "Do you two talk much?"

"We make small talk when I'm coming and going." He could feel her shoulder shrug against his chest. "Occasionally we'll work an event together."

"So you two don't really _work_ together?"

"Well, he's more on the operations side and I'm on creative side which functions independently of each other for the most part...why?"

"Nothin'. Just curious."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and glanced up at him. "Rick…"

"What?" he asked innocently.

"What's going on?"

He exhaled through his nose as he looked into her probing eyes. He had planned to keep this to himself for a while and mull it over, but not even fifteen minutes later, here he was unable to keep his mouth shut.

"He wants me to apply for his position," he explained, purposely downplaying it.

She slowly lifted herself away from him. "Oh my God."

"Yeah," he agreed, keeping his expression neutral as he tried to read hers.

"That's…big."

"I know," he nodded in light of her stunned expression. "I know it's a lot to throw on you with everything going on."

"What are you talking about?" she asked as she set the half-eaten candy bar on the bench then slowly reached out and grasped his wrist in her hand.

"You've got your exhibit to focus on, and this _is_ your place…"

"You've been working here for months," she countered.

"Yeah, but it's not quite the same."

She scrunched her nose at his response then looked down at their hands. She traced her fingers over his watch then along the top of his hand until they sunk into the spaces between his fingers as she pondered what this move would look like for them.

"With a position like this," she started as she laced her fingers through his, "you would be able to cut down to one job."

"Yeah," he answered as he looked down at their intertwined hands.

"So we'd get to see each other more…"

"Yeah. A lot more than we do now," he answered quietly.

"Like we could have lunch dates…and stuff." She glanced up and smiled coyly.

"Hey now," he warned.

"And you could stay with me the weeks you don't have the kids."

His face went still, his lips pursed just on the precipice of a smile as he let that offer and everything that it meant wash over him.

"Yeah," he nodded as his lips finished forming a shy smile.

Her lips stretched into a wide smile as she huffed out a self-conscious laugh. Yeah, she really just did that.

"Wow," she whispered, shaking her head.

"You'd really be OK with me just moving in on your life like this?"

"Isn't that the point of all this?" she asked as she lifted their entwined hands for him to see. "Sharing our lives and starting one of our own?"

"Of course. I just know how much this place means to you. I mean, I could always look for something similar elsewhere now that I know it's an option for me."

"You'd never considered it?" she asked incredulously.

"You start and end your career on the force where I'm from," he explained. "But Ray touched on the one thing that's always bothered me about it deep down: everyday on duty is a risk. I know there are no absolutes in this life, but this provides some peace of mind that I'll be around for Carl and Judith."

"And me," she added quietly.

"And you," he whispered as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"Are you going to go for it?"

"I'm gonna sleep on it for now."

"Fair enough...just know that I'm behind you. Whatever you decide."

He nodded appreciatively, quietly because he was overcome by her generosity and support. By the way she loved him, plain and simple. He lifted his hand to her cheek and pressed his lips against hers. What was meant to be one, discrete kiss had morphed into a long and languid expression of their love that caused her to pull away for a moment in search of her breath.

"The cameras," she whispered as he moved toward her again.

"Ah, nobody's watchin'."

 **Tuesday, August 8**

"What'd you bring me tonight?" she asked upon hearing his footsteps just outside the entrance to the gallery.

She turned to see him with empty, outstretched hands at his sides.

"Just me." He looked around the room, and the cloaked paintings resting against the baseboards that hadn't made it onto the walls yet. "What happened?"

"My crew had to deal with a emergency repair today so I got pushed back until tomorrow."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she said with a deflated look that belied her words. "We have plenty of time...I'm just anxious to get started."

He looked past her to see a ladder and rolling cart parked along the far wall with a toolbox setting on top of it.

"You know where you want everything?" he asked.

"You know I do." She held up the sketch book in her hand, the same one that he had seen her pouring over all those winter nights.

He started across the room, rolling up the sleeves of his light brown uniform shirt as he did. He stopped at cart and opened the toolbox: anchors, nails, a drill, hammers, and a level. Everything they needed was right there. He picked up a hammer and turned to find her watching him with an amused look on her face.

"Where do you want to start?" he asked.

"You don't have to do this," she said with a grin.

"I've been waiting a long time to see this, too," he reminded here. "So where do we start?"

She smiled and shook her head at him then flipped open her sketchbook to decide.

 **Wednesday, August 9**

M: Don't eat on your way in. I'll take care of dinner tonight.

R: You need me to bring anything?

M: Nope. Just yourself.

R: What's the occasion?

M: Just because. :)

* * *

"This pizza is so damn good," he proclaimed with a full mouth.

She smiled and reached across the open pizza box that was sitting on the bench between them and used her thumb to wipe a smudge of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth. He grinned appreciatively and picked up his napkin to finish the job then took a swig of Diet Coke.

Aside from the food, everything else was different about this "date." The surroundings were far classier, a table for two in a private gallery instead of dingy old pizza joint; and the relationship had evolved, first date jitters had given way to a relaxed ease and like had grown into love.

"Looking back, that really wasn't a bad first date," he mused.

She shook her head in agreement. "Not at all. It was the best first date I've ever been on."

"Yeah, it turned out alright, I guess," he teased.

"Yeah, It's OK," she returned dryly. She grinned as she brought her soda to to her lips and took a sip. "Can you believe it's been six months?"

"No, it feels like-" He stopped himself in the middle of tearing off another piece of pizza and looked up at her with a smirk. "Wait, is this a six month anniversary dinner?"

"What?" she gasped, genuinely caught off guard. "No."

"Because I didn't think that was your thing…"

"It's not," she assured him while giving him the eye for even thinking such a think.

"Michonne…"

"It's not!" she insisted. "It's not even six months yet." She pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her sweatshirt and scrolled back to February 2017 on her calendar. "Look. Our first date was...February 11."

He squinted and tried to make out the tiny letters on the phone she had shoved in front of his face. _Date with Rick_. Something about seeing his name in her personal calendar his cheeks warm just as much as the day she'd said yes when he had asked her out.

"I made your calendar back then?"

"Yeah," she answered honestly until she realized he was teasing her. "Oh stop." She bopped his arm with her phone then put it back in her pocket. "This week just has me feeling all nostalgic."

"Me too," he said with sincerity. "After you left last night, I was thinkin' back on those early days. I was pretty sure I was always botherin' you at first, you'd always look real annoyed and kind of sigh and yank your earbuds out whenever I came around."

"You didn't bother me," she defended. "You just startled me. I thought I was alone."

"You know, I always wondered, but was too afraid ask...what were you listening to?"

"Nina Simone," she answered easily. The memories of those late nights were still so vivid, and she found herself smiling fondly as they floated into her mind. "She was my grandmother's favorite."

"I don't know of her."

"Then I've let you down."

"You could play some now…"

She grinned and pulled her phone back out from her pocket and pulled up the exact playlist she had been listening to in January and hit play, leaving his first exposure to Nina up to chance.

Upon hearing the dramatic opening swell of strings, she closed her eyes and nodded. This was a good one. They all were, but this one...

 _Anytime things go wrong_

 _Baby we'll still get along_

 _Cos we have each other_

 _And our love will see us through_

She opened her eyes to see him watching her like she sometimes caught him doing. It was a kind of tender, thoughtful, and loving expression all at once. The only reason she could even try to describe it was because she often found herself watching him the same way, and she knew what she felt when she did.

"I guess it was my way of having her there with me," she explained quietly, "just spending time together sketching in the museum like we used to..."

"She'd be proud to see what you've done."

"I know," she said quietly.

In that moment, he just wanted to wrap his arms around her so he stood from the bench they were sharing, then stepped in front of her and held out his hand.

"Come 'ere. And don't say the cameras."

She laughed quietly and set her phone down then reached for his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet then pull her into a close hold. She wrapped one arm around his neck as she rested her head and their clutched hands against his chest and began to sway to the music.

 _If some tears come our way_

 _The sun skips a day_

 _We still have each other_

 _And our love will see us through_

"The music's much better at this place."

She laughed against his chest and nodded as she recalled the soundtrack of their first date.

"It's been nice havin' you around again...I mean, I wouldn't trade it for our lazy Sunday mornings, but this is nice."

"It is," she agreed. "There's something about this place for us…"

 _Just as long as you and I_

 _Have a little tender kiss to share_

 _There's no doubt at all that we'll get by_

 _Grey skies will all turn bare_

"...I'm going to miss you tomorrow night when I'm here on my own," she admitted.

"Nah, you'll be fine."

"I got spoiled this week...knowing I would get to see your face when I got off work was the best feeling...wish it could be like that every day."

He lifted his chin from where it was resting atop her head and looked down at her.

"Every day?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "Every day. I mean it."

 _So when some clouds bring the rain_

 _We've no cause to complain_

 _Cos we have each other_

 _And our love will see us through_

 _Cos we have each other_

 _And our love will see us through_

"Well, hopefully we'll be closer to making a reality soon."

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah. I submitted my application this afternoon."

She grinned and nodded proudly then laid her head on his chest again and closed her eyes as she they continued to slowly dance along to the music.

 **Thursday, August 10**

She looked up from her laptop at the sound of footsteps. A small, irrational feeling of hope stirred within her. Just maybe it would be him. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do, surprising her with his help and company on an off night. Only that hope was dashed within seconds when a man in a black uniform passed by without even looking her way. _Good_ she thought to herself. He was getting some much deserved sleep at home just where he should be...just where _she_ should be right now instead of keeping vigil in an empty museum like she used to. The project was ahead of schedule thanks to the hard work she had been putting in for months, so she was sitting here for what again? She closed her laptop, picked up the bag of chocolate and the cold venti coffee sitting on the bench next to her and headed for the door.

 **Friday, August 11**

"Shh, shh, shh, shh."

It was Bootsie who had noticed her presence in the bedroom first. Her little head popped over over the tangle of blanket that had amassed at her father's feet. She watched Michonne walk around to "her" side of the bed and began to whimper as she saw her take her shoes off. Michonne silently hushed her again then unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.

The whimpering grew louder and her tail began to wag, thumping her father against his leg and that's what finally roused him.

"Bootsie, please," he groaned as he rolled from his side to his back. His eyes fluttered open and that's when he caught her slipping under the covers beside him. "Michonne?"

"Yeah," she whispered as she settled in. "Sorry I woke you."

"What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"What are you doing home?" he asked groggily. "I thought you were working."

She smiled at his use of the word _home;_ it was his place, but he was still half asleep so she chalked it up to that.

"I was, but then I thought of that security guard who was always telling me to go get some sleep, so I figured I'd try that instead."

He huffed out a sleepy laugh as he rolled onto his side facing her and slung his arm over her. She scooted closer and cuddled up next to him, resting her head just next to his on his pillow. He pressed a kiss to her cheek then wrapped his arm more snuggly around her.

"I'm happy you're home."

She smiled again, and decided that twice was no mistake.

"Me, too."

She closed her eyes and let her tired body relax into the arms of the man she loved. She could feel her lids growing heavier and heavier, and knew it wouldn't be long before she was joining him in sleep.

"Hey Michonne."

She lifted one eye open because it was all she could manage. "Yeah?"

"Happy six month anniversary."

She rolled her eyes under her leaden lids and huffed out a small laugh. Too out of it know what going on, but not so much that he couldn't manage to give her a hard time.

"Go back to sleep, Rick."

She could feel him smile against the back of her neck, obviously quite proud of himself.

"Love you."

"Love you, too, babe," she sighed as she smiled and shut her eyes.

 _-The End-_

*The song used in this chapter was Our Love Will See Us Through by Nina Simone.

 _AN: Thank you all for taking yet another journey with me. I am so appreciative that you gave your time and support to this one and hope that you enjoyed it in the end._

 _I know that some of you may be disappointed that this ended here, but this was always meant to be a simple story about the act of falling in love so this was the completion of that story in my eyes. Trust that all of the good things that you would hope for and dream of for this couple would surely happen because they are so lucky to have found true love with each other, but I will leave that up to your imaginations. :)_

 _If you're interested, there are some audio and visual supplements to this story over on Tumblr, so you can check those out there._

 _Thank you again! Until next time. :)_


	17. Chapter 17

_AN: Hey y'all! I know it's been a while. I've spent the last part of the year working on original manuscripts and taking my first steps toward entering the publishing world. It's exciting and scary all at once. I don't have as much time for fanfic these days, but I miss you and wanted to close out the year with a little Richonne. :)_

 _Happy New Year-wishing you all a happy and healthy 2019!_ _Come follow me at birdietwrites on twitter so we can keep in touch._

* * *

 **Bonus Chapter**

 **December 31**

"What's your twenty, Ford?"

A husky laugh came through the walkie-talkie. "For real, Grimes?"

"I'm trying to be professional-"

"You sound like such a rookie. You went soft when you left the force, man."

Rick rolled his eyes and pressed the button. After hooking his friend up with a generously-paying off duty gig, he'd have thought he guaranteed himself a night without teasing, but there were never any guarantees with Abe, of course.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Fourth floor gallery, Boss-man. All's clear. You need back up at the par-tay?"

Rick glanced at his watch then looked out across the museum's mezzanine as the party-goers, all donning tuxes and floor length gowns, secured glasses of champagne and paired off as it was 11:55 PM. The only crimes he'd witnessed so far were those against fashion and rhythm.

He had this under control.

"Nah, I'm good," he said into the walkie.

"Alright, then I'm gonna go man the front desk."

He knew that was code for watch TV and fall asleep, but that was fine with him. "Thanks."

He dropped the walking to his side and resumed his post against the railing: eyes forward, posture straight, and hands clasped just below his waist. He had to admit, this was the first New Year's he'd been awake for years. The holiday had pretty much ceased to exist once he had children which is why he thought nothing of working a private party tonight so that his single, twenty-something employees could enjoy the night. The extra money didn't hurt either considering the big plans he had for the new year.

Mature and secure in their love, he and Michonne maintained that they didn't _need_ to be together at midnight, that was just silly. Instead, they celebrated New Year's early with a lazy lunch and an afternoon in bed with promises of ringing in the New Year again with the West Coasters when he came home from work. She helped him pick out a smart grey suit and black tie combo, and sent him off for the night shift a kiss to hold him over.

The thing is, as the clock approached midnight, and he watched other happy couples enjoying themselves, he couldn't help but feel like he was missing out. It was similar to the feeling he'd get watching the ball drop in Times Square from his parents living room in King County growing up; the allure of a shiny, sparkly affair that he was a distant bystander to. He should be on that floor, buzzed from champagne and holding his beautiful girlfriend close as they rang in the promise of a new year together.

But really, it wasn't that big of a deal…

* * *

"Shit."

Michonne stopped on Peachtree and 15th, and balanced on one foot as she slipped the sling of her black pump back onto her heel. She looked down at her watch which read 11:56. If she wasn't wearing heels, she was certain she could make her way up the long sidewalk to the entrance and then to the mezzanine level with time to spare, but she was going to be cutting it close. She wrapped her coat tightly around her and carried on in something between a brisk walk and a jog.

Twenty-five minutes ago, she was sitting on her couch, warm and cozy in her PJ's watching the local news coverage of the Peach Drop celebration down in Centennial Park when an overwhelming feeling of loneliness washed over her. Logically she knew that there was nothing special about midnight, but there was something incredibly special about her boyfriend who was just a few blocks away working this evening.

Within minutes, she was in her closet, throwing on her go-to little black dress, these damn heels, and a pair of chandelier earrings. With no time to get properly done up, she tied her locs back and swiped red lipstick across her lips as she put on her coat and ran out the front door.

Finally at the museum's door, she pulled her badge out of her pocket and swiped herself in. The music and heated air hit her instantly, along with a big palm thrown up her face.

"Just where do you think you're going, ma'am? The museum is closed for a private function."

"Abe," she breathed out as she swatted his hand away and pushed past him, not having time for his typically amusing antics.

"Well, hello and Happy New Year to you, too, darlin'."

She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. "Happy New Year, Abe. Gotta run!"

"Not in those things," he shouted back, wincing as he watched her nearly skid on the polished marble floors. "You need a lift?"

She paused for a moment she didn't have to spare, envisioning her romantic gesture being realized with Abe delivering her to Rick via a fireman's carry. It was a thoughtful gesture on his part, but she preferred to be fashionably late for this occasion.

"I'm good, thanks," she said as she started up the stairs.

She could hear the countdown echoing from the TV upstairs, and halfway up the stairs, she could hear the crowd join in with _ten, nine, eight_ -

She hugged the railing as she picked up the pace.

- _seven, six, five, four_ -

She hit the landing and didn't have to look for long before she spotted the handsome man in the grey suit leaning against the railing.

* * *

- _three, two, one_.

"Hey."

Her voice was barely audible over the cheers, party horns, and _Auld Lang Syne_ blasting from the DJ booth, but it would always get his attention.

There she was like a vision, smiling as she coolly walked toward him, her coat open and revealing a black lace dress underneath.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a small laugh, careful not to sound unwelcoming.

Her cool hands braced his face as her lips met his, warm and soft. He honestly didn't give a damn if he was on duty, he was the Director of Security after all, so unless one of the guests complained, he was in the clear. He slipped his hands under her coat and around her waist, bringing her against her chest in a hug.

As the noise around them began to die down, they broke apart, smiling shyly at each other.

"Happy New Year," she said.

"Happy New Year, love." He cupped her cheek and chuckled again. "I'd been thinking about you all night, wishing you were here with me."

"I was, too," she admitted. "So I thought I would pay you a late night visit like old times."

"Well, you made my night."

She gave him a satisfied smile as she leaned against the railing with him, resting her head on his shoulder as he returned his eyes to the party. He slipped his warm hand around hers and squeezed it.

"So what was the best part of 2018 for you?" he asked.

She hummed as she considered it. It had been a big year, for both of them, with many blessings to consider.

"Staging my exhibit...getting written up in the Times...adding two wonderful kids and a dog to my life…and you, of course. It's all sweeter getting to share it with you."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"And you?" she asked.

"You."

She turned her head to press a kiss against his shoulder.

Of course this was not the first time she had heard this, he told her freely and often. Life was better with her to share it with, and in 2019 they would make that official.


End file.
